A Second Chance
by keyphoenix
Summary: What if Snape had survived Nagini's attack? Beginning right after the last page of DH, Snape and Harry navigate through their complex past and finally find peace, forgiveness, and...happiness? NOT slash, a mentoring/guardian fic. PLEASE review!
1. Surprise

Bright sunlight dazzled through the windows as Harry and Hermione walked through the halls toward Gryffindor tower, the natural beauty sharply contrasting with the wreckage and death that permeated the castle. Ron had returned to the Great Hall to grieve with his family.

The two walked close together, their light but slow footsteps a representation of their mixed feelings of elation and grief.

As they rounded a corner they saw a ripped book bag lying solitary next to a smashed window, the broken glass littering the books, papers, and quills that lay scattered. It appeared to have been tossed aside haphazardly. A first year potions book sat in a shaft of direct sunlight, the glass fragments causing it to sparkle oddly.

Harry stopped walking.

"I have to go to the Shrieking Shack." he said suddenly.

"The Shr – what?" asked Hermione, bewildered, but after a second her face relaxed into an expression of solemn understanding.

"Of course." She said quietly. "Do you want me to come?"

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it. While he felt like recovering Snape's body was a job he ought to do alone, he also felt an inexplicable need for comfort and companionship from his best friend. As with the past seven years, especially the past year, she would take on this final task with him. "Yes."

The pair shifted directions, moving through the castle at a much quicker and more purposeful pace. As they moved toward the Great Hall and more people stopped them, verbally expressing gratitude or embracing both in tight hugs, Harry, though appreciative, became exponentially more exhausted. He motioned for Hermione to follow him into a small nook and threw the Invisibility Cloak over them. "Just like old times," Hermione whispered wistfully, taking care to bend down.

As they passed the Great Hall, Harry saw a sea of red hair huddled together. One redhead broke away from the group, walking to a nearby stretcher on which Tonks rested, and Harry's heart clenched painfully as he watched Mrs. Weasley embrace Andromeda Tonks, both mothers sobbing uncontrollably in each other's arms.

"Come on, Harry," Hermione whispered gently, her own eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Harry tore his gaze away and followed her outside to the lawn.

More bodies lay sprawled out on the Hogwarts grounds, Healers and Mediwitches expertly and swiftly moving between them and conjuring stretchers. As they seemed to be moving from the inside outwards, Harry doubted that they had reached Snape's body yet. Trees on the edge of the Forbidden Forest lay severed and destroyed, giving the appearance of the remnants of a hurricane. Centaurs moved quietly about them, picking up the wreckage and talking amongst themselves.

Harry and Hermione strode forward, the cloak flapping at their ankles in a light breeze. As the Shrieking Shack came into view, Harry was oddly reminded of the night in his third year when Sirius revealed the truth about Peter Pettigrew. He bit back a small smile as he pictured Sirius, shrunken from his Azkaban days but still adventurous and reckless, carelessly levitating an unconscious Snape while Lupin, Hermione, Ron, and recently transformed Peter had followed behind. What an odd sight they had all made. Harry felt a small blow to his stomach as he realized that four of the seven people there that night were now dead.

As he and Hermione moved further along the grounds in the bright heat, Harry finally allowed himself to ruminate on the memories he had seen in the Pensieve. Truthfully, he had been shocked. After Dumbledore's death there had been no question in Harry's mind about Snape's loyalties; he had not even thought to question the act, not even considered the possibility that it was anything but cold blooded murder. He had ignored Dumbledore's unwavering support of Snape, the numerous times the man had saved him from death, never questioned why the memory he had seen in his fifth year had engendered_ such_ vehemence from Snape…

Heavy guilt seeped into his senses as he remembered the last conversation he had had with Snape. It had been on these very grounds, the night of Dumbledore's death, when Harry had genuinely hated the man as much as he hated Voldemort himself. _Coward_, he had called him. He had never wondered why that label sparked such rage, remembering the anguished and terrorized face Snape had had at the word. And Snape had just been forced to kill the one of the few people that, assumedly, had ever believed in him. Harry closed his eyes. The last thing he had called the man who dedicated his life to protecting him, probably the bravest man he ever knew – a coward. Twice.

But Harry knew that Snape's behavior, redemption and loyalty and protection and all, was not really for him; it was for his mother. He knew that that was the sole reason he had gone to the great lengths he did to protect Harry and avenge Voldemort – his undying love for Lily Potter. But Harry knew, as Snape had known, that Lily Potter was dead. No matter how dramatically Snape changed his ways, she would not have come back from the dead and been with him. He could have easily mourned her death and continued in his dark path as a Death Eater, but he did not. His behavior had been utterly selfless.

Harry saw how angry Snape became at Dumbledore's Machiavellian ways, on his behalf; how he declared regretfully that he had only watched those die whom he could not save; and how he risked blowing his cover to protect Lupin. Perhaps his path for Dumbledore had begun out of a desire to do what Lily would have wanted him to do, but Harry knew that Snape had been a good man. A good man with a biting and cold disposition, positively cruel at times, but still – a good man.

And Harry had watched this man, this man to whom he owed his life and success, die before his eyes without even trying to save him. He had just stared as the snake venom slowly killed the man who he so had so hated.

As Harry replayed Snape's final words in his mind, he gasped quietly. When Snape had said _Look at me_, at the time Harry had just assumed he meant to look at the memories, to see Snape for what he truly was. But now Harry understood, as he remembered his green eyes meeting the black.

Snape had wanted the last thing he saw before he died to be the eyes of the woman he loved.

Harry turned away from Hermione as a lump formed in his throat, his eyes burning and blurring. Ever intuitive, Hermione squeezed his hand.

As they crept up the tunnel to the shack, Harry's heart began to drum unbearably fast. He knew what he would see when he reached the decrepit room, knew what to expect; but knowing what he did now, he was unsure of his reaction. Although Hermione had seen him at far worse, he still felt that breaking down and sobbing over Snape's dead body would be deeply embarrassing. His lips curled into a small smile as he imagined Snape's own reaction to such emotional behavior; probably a thoroughly disgusted expression and sneer, Harry decided.

They climbed through the trapdoor and pattered into the room. Sure enough, the room was exactly as it had been when they left it; thickly coated in dust and squalid as ever. Harry took a calm, steadying breath as he saw a black-clad figure in the corner. Hermione whimpered beside him, and now it was he who squeezed her hand.

As they advanced on the dead man and kneeled before him, Harry's chest became constricted with grief. Snape's neck and shoulders were covered with blood, which had trickled down his characteristic thick black robes. Harry took in his shrunken, practically emaciated figure; surely he had not been that thin when he last saw him. His formerly jet-black, greasy hair now had several strands of gray, and his cheeks looked hollow and sunken. Large purple circles underlined his glassy, unseeing eyes.

Harry's tears were falling freely now. Hermione clasped his hand, squeezing it reassuringly as she had at his parents' graves, though her own sobs were audible as well.

After a few minutes Harry spoke quietly, his voice thick and hoarse. "We should bring him back now."

As with Dobby, Harry did not want to use magic. He wanted to use his own arms to carry Snape, a small act to pay back a minute fraction of the gratitude and debt he owed the man. Hermione, understanding his aim immediately, nodded and stood up as Harry scooted, extending his arms to Snape's shoulders and legs. But as he bent down, he noticed two empty phials next to Snape's shoulder. Had those been there before?

"Herm – "

"Harry." Hermione's eyes were wide with amazement, but her voice was no longer clogged with tears. Harry followed her gaze to Snape's thin wrist, where a slow but steady heartbeat thumped.

"He's _alive_."


	2. Confusion

Severus Snape did not fear dying. He had suffered far worse emotional and physical pain during life, and predicted that death would bring the peace that he had so longed for. He had very little to live for, if anything, and consequently felt no fear or loss in leaving the living world.

As he saw Lily Potter's green eyes sparkling down at him in what he thought were his final breaths, he felt the long-held tension, stress, and anger leave his shoulders. He had given the boy his memories, had completed Dumbledore's final task, and assuming everything else went to plan, he would have died a success.

The boy.

Snape had been floored to see the boy emerge from the shadows after Nagini's attack, along with his two sidekicks. As he watched Potter approach his dying figure, he momentarily wondered if the boy might finish off the job himself, or worse, torture Snape more. After all, Snape had appeared to betray him in the cruelest way; killing his beloved mentor in cold blood, harming his family friend, and allying himself with the man who had killed the boy's parents.

But no. The boy simply bent down next to him, his expression not one of loathing or rage, but of conflicting emotions. Was that_ pity_ on his face? Although Snape still saw the messy black hair and pointed nose, he was a fool to consider this boy James Potter's carbon copy in this moment. James Potter would never have approached a dying man, a dying man whom he truly hated (for good reason), with compassion and sadness on his face.

The behavior was pure Lily.

And in that instant, as Snape saw the fact that he had so studiously ignored over the past seven years: Harry Potter was as much Lily's son as he was James's. And as he saw those painfully familiar green eyes staring down at him, their expression accusing but sympathetic, Snape felt his hatred and loathing dissipate.

He wanted forgiveness.

Originally when he saw the boy he had planned to give him the one memory of Dumbledore saying that he must die. That was all Potter needed to know, right? Perhaps he could somehow cloud out the angry protests he himself had made at the old man…that would probably confuse the boy…

But no. He did not want to die detested and forgotten, another reviled Death Eater whose only life accomplishments were killing and maiming. He wanted to know that his difficult, miserable, stressful existence had been worth living, and worth praise. He knew he would be long gone by the time Potter saw the memories, but he wanted him to understand.

He thought of Lily, and the Marauders, and Dumbledore and George Weasley and the silver doe, and the overflowing silver memories escaped from his eyes and ears. At his command the boy looked around wildly, but the Granger girl – she always was the most intelligent of the three, not that there was much competition, Snape thought – quickly gave him a vial and he collected the memories. Snape inwardly nodded in satisfaction as he felt life leaving his body.

He tried to look at Lily's eyes again but now Potter was looking at the vial in confusion – ever _so_ daft – and at the painful wound in his neck. As Snape spoke his last words, the boy finally looked at him, and he saw those unforgettable eyes, a stunning green, that held so much meaning for the path of his life…

And then the world went black.

Snape felt vaguely conscious. How much time had passed? Was there such a thing as time when you died? And why did he still feel pain in his neck?

Snape inwardly groaned. So you could still feel pain in death. Wonderful.

Suddenly aware that his eyes were already open, Snape focused on his surroundings, expecting to see the red, fiery depths of hell. Instead he saw the Shrieking Shack, exactly as it had been before he died – had he died? What was going on? – but Potter and his two cronies were gone.

After a few moments of inaction Snape gingerly lifted his hand to the snake bites on his neck. Instead of touching deep puncture wounds and sticky venom, he simply felt dried blood over a few small crevices. The pain was still there, was still extremely harsh, but the skin had been healed.

It was then that he saw a solitary crimson feather near his feet. _Fawkes_.

Snape supposed he should feel relief; he hadn't died. But as he had stared into Lily's eyes for one last time, he had accepted death, even embraced it; there was nothing left for him in the living world. Especially if Harry Potter did die, and the Dark Lord was not defeated…he could not continue to feign servitude and admiration, to follow the Death Eaters on their barbaric and inhumane quests for power and control…

Snape sighed. Eventually, someone would find him here. Potter and the other two knew about his whereabouts…so did Lucius, Snape thought angrily. He had likely not known that he was sending Snape to his death when he fetched the man for the Dark Lord, but all the same…

He suddenly remembered that he had a small array of emergency potions in a pocket of his robes. Gingerly lifting them, still in his half-slumped position, he deftly picked out an anti-venom potion and painkiller. Quickly swallowing both, he threw the empty phials on the ground and slipped back into unconsciousness, extreme exhaustion and pain overtaking him.

It seemed an eternity since he had last been conscious. Snape was vaguely aware that he was warm, and was no longer slumped against the hard, cold, unforgiving walls of the Shrieking Shack. His neck was no longer causing pain, though had the strange sensation of being pulled. He was not wearing his thick robes, but instead something softer and lighter. Though his eyes were now closed, he could perceive a bright light above him. Feeling mildly hopeful, he wondered if perhaps he had died after all…

Faintly opening his eyes, disappointment settled in his chest. He was in the hospital wing. And from the sounds of hushed voices, so were several other people.

His black eyes slowly, disdainfully, slid from the ceiling to the side of the bed. While he had expected to see Pomfrey, perhaps a Ministry official trying to take him to Azkaban, he did not expect to see Potter sitting in a chair next to him, staring at him intently though exhaustedly through his bright green eyes. Behind him were Granger, McGonagall, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, speaking quietly together.

As the black met the green, once again, Potter's eyes widened in surprise, not at all deterred by the likely deathly glare Snape was giving the boy.

"He's awake!" the insufferable boy said excitedly, though with a hint of trepidation. Snape stole a glance at the three behind him, and instead of the cold, hateful looks he had become accustomed to receiving during the past year, they looked back at him with kind smiles and watery eyes. McGonagall slowly sauntered over and – Snape could not believe the dratted woman's nerve – patted his hand. He tried to move his hand away, but in his incredibly exhausted and drained state, he found he did not have enough energy. McGonagall took this as positive reinforcement and instead chose to hold onto his hand and squeeze it. _Oh, Merlin_. _Kill me now_.

Snape decided that if the snake venom failed to kill him, this kindness and mollycoddling would surely finish off the job.


	3. Gratitude

Harry stared at his newly awake professor and felt trepidation and discomfort seep into his senses. When Snape had been unconscious, it was easy to see him as the brave, valiant, selfless man in the memories; the one who had loved his mother, who had protected Harry, who had nearly died fighting the man he supposedly served. But now seeing him awake, though he still had that perception, it was slowly retreating. Harry had forgotten how cold and hateful those black eyes could look, especially when directed at him.

He, Hermione, and Kingsley watched on as McGonagall approached Snape and squeezed his hand. Harry had to stop a small snort from escaping his lips as he saw Snape's eyes widen and strain at the undesired contact.

"Severus," McGonagall said, her voice wobbly and her eyes sparkling with tears, "How can I ever apologize to you. I am so, so sorry."

Snape appeared alarmed at his coworker's proclamation. He continued to stare on impassively, but gave a small nod in response, clearly wanting to halt her emotional monologue. Since she was looking at the ceiling trying to compose herself, McGonagall missed this action.

"I just…never imagined…a _planned_ death….should have trusted Dumbledore…" she prated on, still touching Snape's hand. From its nearly undetectable twitching, Harry imagined Snape would have withdrawn his hand immediately if he had not been so weak.

"And you! When Potter told You – told V-Voldemort," she winced at the name but seemed to draw strength from her ability to say it, "about his mother, about Lily, and you, it all made sense. You two were the best of friends, after all, I can clearly remember, until the later end of your school years…" McGonagall continued rambling but Snape's black, fathomless eyes had found Harry's, fixing him with a look that could kill. He looked livid.

"Uh, Professor," Harry addressed McGonagall, who was now letting her tears freefall onto Snape's blankets, "could you – could you give me and Sn- Professor Snape a few moments?" He looked behind him at Hermione and Kingsley, who were watching the scene with compassion and a hint of amusement. "You two as well? Please?"

Hermione and Kingsley nodded. Hermione squeezed Harry's shoulder and whispered, "We'll just be outside." McGonagall looked up at Harry, momentarily confused, and then understood. Giving a final squeeze to Snape's hand, she patted it again and with a nod to Harry, followed the two others outside the Infirmary doors.

Harry slowly turned back to face his professor, his face a mixture of unease and determination. Snape's mouth was open as he tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled rasp. His eyes looked momentarily alarmed and he tried unsuccessfully to raise a hand to his throat.

"No, don't do that." Harry said. Snape glared at him fiercely. "Your vocal cords were somewhat harmed from Nagini's attack. They will eventually heal, but at least for the next few days, you won't be able to speak. And attempting to do so will only slow your recovery." He fixed his old professor with a stern gaze, his lips twisting a little at the irony.

Snape continued to stare at him impassively, but the alarm in his eyes seemed slightly placated, meaning he understood. He raised his eyebrows in question, but Harry knew it was not about his voice.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to draw strength from the fact that Snape could not interrupt or belittle him during his explanation. "Okay." He started. "So, uh, Professor McGonagall…alluded to…something I said during my final battle with Voldemort. We won, by the way! I killed him!"

Harry couldn't help but smile broadly, though the motion felt strange on his facial muscles, after the year he had had. Snape did not look impressed and gave him a cold look that clearly said, _I assumed so_. But Harry did not miss the small gleam of satisfaction that passed through the black eyes at the confirmation.

"So, during this, uh, final battle…Voldemort and I were kind of talking. About a lot of stuff. He started to mention Dumbledore, and his death, and I had just seen the memories, and…I wanted him to know the truth about you. And the crowd around us, I wanted them to know too, but I would have made it known to them later, of course…" Snape looked at him pointedly, though something else unreadable momentarily flashed in his stony expression. Could it have been gratitude?

"Anyway. I just said that he did not bring about Dumbledore's death like he thought. I told him that it was planned between you two…and then consequently, I had to explain, uh, your whole…betrayal." Harry finished lamely. He took a deep breath, and picturing Snape's agonized face at his mother's death, continued. "I told him that you were Dumbledore's the minute he started hunting down my mum. Because of the one thing he couldn't understand…love."

Harry was unprepared for the intense pain that flashed through Snape's expression momentarily. He looked at he had in the Pensieve, when his plan to save Lily had failed, and when Harry had called him a coward. The expression quickly passed, but it softened Harry's voice slightly.

"He didn't understand, even as I was telling him. But he was shocked. He told me that you merely…_desired_…my mother," Harry and Snape both wore expressions of disgust and anger at this, "and that you agreed there were other women, worthier, of purer blood. But I told him you had been Dumbledore's spy from the moment he started hunting her down because you loved my mother nearly all your life, from the time you were children."

Snape continued to stare at him, expressionless. Harry took this as a cue to continue.

"I know you're probably angry that I told the world your secret" Snape's eyes widened as if to say, _You think?_ "but at that point I still thought you were dead, and I was planning on telling everyone anyway so it didn't seem to matter…" Harry pictured Voldemort's sneering face. "And I wanted him to know before he died. He killed people without a second glance or thought, and never understood the repercussions of his actions…the unimaginable pain, grief, loss, guilt. I wanted him to know that killing my mother affected you so significantly that you defected from the Dark side. The strength of that love…of love, in general…is infinitely more powerful than anything he ever had."

Snape's face still looked stony and impassive, but the pain and regret were evident in his eyes. Harry resisted the urge to pat his professor's hand as McGonagall had and continued.

"I also told him for another reason. On your behalf, I felt…I don't know, satisfaction, maybe pride, from seeing the shock on his face. As you once said, he was the greatest Legilimens the world had ever seen. You must have been incredibly talented at Occlumency and several other things to be the spy that you were. I wanted him to know that he had underestimated you, in your immense capabilities and powers, that you could deceive someone as powerful as him."

Satisfaction gleamed in Snape's eyes, unmistakable this time, though brief. He opened his mouth again but no sound came out. Harry softened his voice even more, leaning slightly towards his professor.

"Voldemort died with the knowledge that you deceived him and played a leading role in his defeat. Retribution, perhaps, for he thoughtlessly killed you." Harry's tone became hard and bitter at the memory. "Regardless, I want to say that…I too realize that you played a leading role in Voldemort's defeat. Probably a bigger role than I did." He said seriously. Snape raised his eyebrows slightly, but Harry couldn't tell if it was in disagreement or acquiescence. "And I know what you did wasn't for me, exactly. But I will never be able to thank you or express my gratitude for all you did…the danger, the risk, the agony it must have been to pretend to serve and admire such a…_monster_." Harry spat out the last word. "But, uh…thank you." He said sincerely, staring at Snape's black eyes. His face remained unreadable but his eyes had lost their angry and stony glare.

"Okay." Harry stood up. "I'll tell the others to come back in. They have some stuff to fill you in on." Harry again resisted the urge to pat Snape's hand. He instead walked as close as possible to the bed and looked down. "And thanks for listening. I know you couldn't have…uh…really interrupted me or done anything, but you didn't totally shut me down!"

Snape looked him distastefully, perhaps regretting not "shutting down" the boy, but with a hint less malice than usual. Harry gave him a small smile and left the room.


	4. Information

After Minerva and Kingsley returned to update him on what had happened during and after the battle, Potter and Granger quietly left, mumbling something about the Weasleys. But Potter had turned around and said pointedly, "I will be back."

_Oh, how delightful. _

He listened to the witch and wizard describe the battle with feigned mild interest, but was actually captivated. It had not escaped his notice, after all, that Potter was alive and well and the Dark Lord was not, despite Dumbledore's previous proclamations that the boy had to die. And he was more than curious on the dispositions of his former colleagues, both Death Eaters and Order members alike.

His impassive mask remained intact as he listened to their discourse, but he did allow himself a small, raspy gasp when Minerva detailed how _Molly Weasley_ had killed Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Oh, yes," Minerva said, allowing herself a small smile. "That…woman…had been battling Ginny Weasley, and also Granger and Lovegood, I believe, and a killing curse narrowly missed Weasley's head. Molly went into maternal attack mode." Minerva chuckled. "Who knew that woman had it in her. I am still floored." Snape raised his eyebrows in surprise, with a hint of admiration. He had hated Bellatrix Lestrange nearly as much as he detested the Dark Lord himself.

She continued to describe the battle, delineating how everyone had momentarily believed the boy dead – Snape assumed that had something to do with Dumbledore's prediction – but then he had taken off his dratted Invisibility Cloak, revealing himself, to protect Molly Weasley. _Typical Potter and his melodramatic entrances_, huffed Snape internally.

But he listened with rapt attention when she described the final conversation between the Dark Lord and Potter. "He absolved you, Severus. Right in front of everyone. Told everyone about you and Lily, and your change of heart. The shock on his face was brief, but very gratifying." She paused, her gray eyes boring into his. "I still don't know how you managed to do it, Severus. To go to that…monster…and pretend to serve him, after what he did to Lily..." Her lips upturned into a small smile. "I always knew you were the most talented professor at the school, loath as I was to admit it. Besides Albus, of course. But despite being decades, even centuries, younger than the lot of us, you were always the most skilled. And to defy someone like Voldemort…clearly required unbelievable skill and bravery." She cleared her throat. "This is something I should have realized before."

Snape merely nodded back in acknowledgement. Although he would never admit it, his colleague's words touched him. She had been one of the few professors in the school whom he could tolerate, and despite the old Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry between them, he had always had slight admiration for her. Like him, she was a no-nonsense but effective teacher, and she had always treated him fairly when he was a student himself.

She continued to fill the gaps in his knowledge with Kingsley making additional remarks and explanations. He was surprised to hear that Lucius and Narcissa were currently being held at the Ministry, though he doubted they would ever go to Azkaban. Minerva had explained some confusing instance in which Narcissa had lied to the Dark Lord about Potter being alive, and although it was clearly for selfish purposes, he knew they would use this small act of mercy to manipulate and weasel their way out of a lifelong prison sentence. As for the other remaining Death Eaters, he was gratified to learn that the majority had been captured. As for those who had escaped, Kingsley assured him that they would be caught in a timely manner.

Snape took all this in and thought of something horrifying. His eyes widening in alarm, he tried to catch the attention of Kingsley, who was now looking at his watch and moving to stand up. He cleared his throat raspily and the new Minister looked at him. Snape tried to raise a finger but found that he was still too weak. However, he managed to rasp out a quiet, "Me?"

Minerva and Kingsley looked confused and then wore matching looks of dawning comprehension. Minerva shook her head quickly, looking at Kingsley for confirmation. "He isn't being tried, right?"

The new minister shook his head, addressing Snape. "You will face no persecution. Though you partook in Death Eater activities, your participation in the Order and instrumental role in bringing down Voldemort clearly outweigh that. I have told the Ministry that you are absolved, but if the need arises, we can use the memories you gave Potter. Or Veritaserum." Snape nodded, relief evident on his face, and Kingsley, thankfully, forwent patting his hand and instead raised his own in farewell to Minerva and Snape. "Goodbye, Severus and Minerva. I have much to attend to, but I'm sure I will be back soon. For the funeral, of course." He nodded once more and swept outside.

Like Minerva, Kingsley had been one the few Order members Snape could tolerate. He appreciated his cool, calm demeanor, and though the man was brave, he was never foolhardy or impulsive like his other Gryffindor counterparts. He figured he would make a decent Minister.

But what was "the funeral" he spoke of? Snape knew many had died, but couldn't there be separate funerals for all of them? He raised his eyebrows at Minerva in question.

"There is going to be a funeral." She stated unnecessarily. "For everyone who died. Those who died fighting Voldemort, obviously, none for the Death Eaters. In the next few days." She looked outside, sadness clouding her features. "Many innocent lives were lost, Severus."

Snape stared at her. "List," he rasped.

"What?" she looked back at him, focusing. "Oh," she said softly. She raised her wand and official-looking parchment came whizzing into the room. "Here," she said, trying to give it to Snape. Seeing he could not lift his hand, her expression softened and she held it before him. He hated being treated like a child, but wanted to see who had died.

His eyes quickly scanned the names, willing himself to not feel any emotion. But unexpectedly, many younger students had lost their lives. He was about to turn to Minerva, anger in his eyes, to ask her why she had not tried harder to protect them, but then realized it had been his responsibility. He closed his eyes briefly. He had failed Dumbledore's order.

But he did feel a small, minute blow to his stomach when he saw two names far down the list. Remus and Nymphadora Lupin. His eyes stopped scanning.

Minerva was watching him, staring at the names that had finally broken his emotionless expression, for however brief a moment. "Oh, yes," she whispered. Her eyes brimmed with tears. "They just had a son, did you know? Teddy." She blinked furiously, trying to control herself. "Another orphan now, like Potter. But he has Andromeda, I suppose…and Potter is his godfather, did you know?"

Snape sneered at the thought of Potter coddling a small werewolf with fur in changing colors.

"Severus." Minerva said. "I know that you saved Lupin's life. However you act like you hated him, and Nymphadora…I know you didn't."

Snape pursed his lips. That had been incredibly foolish, risking his cover like that to protect Lupin. Even now, he wasn't quite sure why he had done it.

But deep down, he knew why. Lupin had done nothing to stop Potter and Black from tormenting him during school, playing the role of unsupportive but spineless bystander that Snape so hated, but he had never taken part in the bullying. He had never even laughed, and there was always something like regret and pity on his face as he had watched Snape suffer. Of course, Snape hadn't realized that he didn't hate the man until a few years ago when Lupin had formally apologized to him. He had brushed off the apology coldly and harshly, but he had not forgotten it. But in the end, Lupin had still died, just a few months later. And Snape had ended up maiming one of the Weasley boys instead.

In perfect timing that only Potter could orchestrate, the Boy Who Lived Again came striding back into the Infirmary with Granger, the youngest Weasley boy, and one of the Weasley twins, conspicuously missing an ear. Snape briefly remembered seeing Fred Weasley's name on the list of the dead.

As the quartet drew nearer, Snape was surprised by the array of emotions on their faces. Potter appeared exhausted and upset, but there was unmistakable relief on his face. Granger looked similar, but with a touch more sadness. Snape noticed she was tightly gripping the youngest Weasley's hand and that he was looking at her with admiration and affection.

Snape inwardly smirked at that. He had known those two would end up together since their fourth year when he – to his immense displeasure – had continuously been unable to avoid hearing their loud arguments, laced with sexual tension, throughout Potions class.

But the momentary amusement disappeared at he observed Weasley's melancholy, defeated face. Only a small hint of relief brightened his features. But the older Weasley looked positively anguished, his face haunted and twisted with grief.

Snape felt a small emotion in his stomach that could only be sympathy. Despite what others thought, he was not a heartless man. Although he had hated the insufferable Weasley twins, he did not wish the pain of losing a loved one on anyone. It was a pain worse than the Cruciatus…as he would know.

"Professor." Harry stated, looking at Snape carefully and silently willing him to be cordial. "George wanted to say something to you."

The Weasley twin looked up distractedly, as if only then remembering where he was. His voice was monotone and lifeless as he spoke, but he looked intensely at Snape's eyes. "Harry told us that you didn't mean to curse my ear off. You were trying to save Remus. And that you made a point of putting that in the memories you gave him." He paused, momentarily looking to the side as if to see his twin, and then stared back at Snape. "I know what those Death - what those monsters were and what they did. And you weren't one of them, not by a long shot. And although I know it was an accident, I want to say I forgive you for my ear." Earnestness briefly lightened his features until he returned to his lifeless look.

All eyes were trained on Snape. He could easily retain his impassive mask, ignoring the boy's foolish forgiveness, especially when he had not apologized and had no intention of doing so. But the haunted pain in the boy's eyes reminded him too much of himself. Before he could stop himself, he nodded slightly and cocked his head in acknowledgement. This seemed to satisfy the boy and he turned back to his brother. Potter was giving him a strange look. Was that _gratitude_ he saw?

"Okay. Well, Harry, Hermione, we're going to go back." The youngest Weasley said, turning his gaze from Snape to his friends. "We're all going back to the Burrow tonight. But I'll be back tomorrow, okay?"

Granger nodded, squeezing his hand and resting a hand on the older Weasley's shoulder. Snape didn't think the touch even registered.

"I'll walk you lot downstairs. I need to see your parents." Minerva said softly. "Granger, Potter, what are your plans?"

"I'm going to Australia to find my parents. I Obliviated them to protect them from Voldemort…I'm going to find them and return their memories. I'll be back in a few days for the funeral." Granger said.

"I'm going to stay here, at least until the funeral." Harry said. Snape inwardly groaned. He turned to Snape, his face inscrutable. "I'm going to go take a nap, but I'll be back later, okay, Professor?"

Snape did not respond but continued to stare at him impassively. Taking this as acceptance – which it was not – Potter nodded and followed Minerva and his friends outside the Infirmary.

_Why must Potter continue to return_? he wondered to himself, exasperated, as Poppy came over and checked his wounds, pouring more foul potions down his throat. _Is he trying to annoy me? Does he want to talk about his mother? _

The last one made him wince. He would certainly not discuss Lily with _Potter_, of all people. The idea was practically laughable, he mused as he fell into a peaceful sleep. Absolutely ludicrous.


	5. Wish

As Harry was dreading the funeral, the next few days predictably flew by unceremoniously. He was far from done grieving, and each day brought a new pain; meeting Colin Creevey's anguished but kind parents, seeing his godson for the first time, still a baby and unaware that he was now an orphan, and the dozens of other families and friends that gave a name and life to those who had died fighting.

Despite the constant outpouring of gratitude and appreciation that surrounded him – Harry had taken to wearing the Invisibility Cloak occasionally just to avoid being smothered with hugs – he was feeling slightly lonely. Ron and Ginny had gone back to the Burrow with their family to grieve, and though Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had welcomed him to come, Harry felt that they needed to deal with the loss of Fred privately. Hermione was off in Australia returning her parents memories, and according to the excited letter she had sent Harry, the reunion seemed to be going smoothly. Even Luna had left Hogwarts, to reunite with her father after his release from Azkaban. Neville was the sole one that remained at Hogwarts, but he spent most time at his gran's bedside; she had been greatly injured in the battle.

Harry knew it was silly and selfish to feel lonely, but he had always relied on his friends a great deal, especially Ron and Hermione. Being without them now, even for a few days, was supremely difficult, and it wasn't until then that Harry realized how essential their unwavering support and friendship had been in the past seven years.

Seeking companionship, Harry ironically turned to Snape. Although the man was as rude, caustic, and cold as ever, Harry found that he appreciated his demeanor more compared to the constant obsequiousness and excessive gratitude of nearly all around him. However, despite his numerous, whole-hearted attempts to get through to the man, Snape was a tough egg to crack. He also seemed to be asleep more and more frequently when Harry came, and though he knew the man was a superb deceiver, he could tell it was an act.

Just now Snape was sitting up in bed, reading a thick, boring-looking book about spell theory. He had gained considerable strength since his attack, although his upper shoulder and neck area were still covered in thick bandages. He was wearing thick-framed, rectangular reading glasses now, as some of the medicine he had been taken was having counteractive effects on his vision. Harry, sitting somewhat nearby on a chair, stole a quick glance at him and was struck by how…human Snape looked. Wearing a hospital gown, reading glasses, and sitting in a hospital bed under blankets, he looked a far cry from the formidable professor Harry had known.

Sensing his gaze, Snape turned to look at Harry sharply. Even through the glasses, Harry could still see the coal-black eyes clearly. "Do you want something, Potter?"

"No, sir," Harry said, turning back to his own book on Defense Against the Dark Arts. He had figured, despite Voldemort's death, it never hurt to know more defense spells, especially if he still wanted to be an Auror.

Snape turned back to his book as well, but after a moment, turned his face back up, sneering slightly. "Why are you here, Potter?"

"What?"

"I thought my question was reasonably straightforward. Apparently, some minds cannot grapple with simple concepts." His sneer became more defined. "I asked, why are you here? Why do you come nearly every day to sit in that chair, asking me inane questions, bothering me with your prattle? Why not go and revel in the insane amount of attention you are inevitably receiving?"

Harry put down his book and stared defiantly at Snape. Although the man's expression was cold and condescending, there was a hint of genuine curiosity and confusion behind his features.

"First of all, I don't _want_ the attention I'm receiving, as I've been trying to show you for the past seven years!" Harry said, annoyed. "I appreciate the gratitude people have shown me, but I am not desperately seeking it. I do not enjoy being a – what did you used to call me? – a celebrity."

"Celebrity, indeed. As humble and _modest_ as your words sound Potter, I have a hard time believing you don't enjoy the attention. Just yesterday, if my memory serves me correctly, you signed an _autograph_ in this very room." Snape raised his eyebrows condescendingly.

"That was because she asked me too," Harry said hotly, "she was a little girl whose mum was injured in the battle! What did you expect me to do? Say no? We do not all find it so easy to be as rude and unkind as you."

Snape's gaze hardened and despite its rasp, his voice still sounded silkily dangerous. "Watch yourself, Potter. Just because I am no longer your Professor does not mean you can speak to me with such blatant disrespect." He shot a contemptuous glance at Harry and returned to his book.

"Wait." Harry said loudly. Snape glanced up and gave a long-suffering sigh. "Let me answer your question. The reason I come here every day," Harry hesitated momentarily, "is because…after reflecting on your memories, on the battle, on everything I saw…I realized something. You deserve, more than many people, to be…." Harry paused and spoke the word as though it did not match the man sitting before him. "…happy." He crossed his arms and prepared for vituperation.

Something like pain and surprise passed through Snape's closed expression momentarily, but then his face turned hard. "Happy?" he asked harshly. The word seemed twisted coming from him.

But Harry stared back. "Yes. You…deserve to be."

Snape suddenly spoke, as though he could not control himself. "Why?"

"Because…" Harry licked his lips. "Because you, it seems to me, have not been happy in quite some time. And that is mostly Voldemort's own doing, perhaps even Dumbledore's in a way…but it is obvious that you have lived a very difficult life, in constant stress and danger, and now…now you're free. Both of your masters are dead. You can…you can finally be happy."

Snape stared at Harry for a long time, his characteristic impassive expression closed off from any emotion. For a moment, Harry thought he was going to nod his head in agreement or even _thank_ him, but he was wrong on both accounts.

"So do you believe that _you_, Potter, are the key to my happiness?" Snape's lip curled.

Harry frowned. "No, and I never implied that I would be. I know that you hate me. But you have made significant sacrifices for me – I know it was for my mum, but still – and I feel it's my duty to see that those sacrifices are repaid." Harry cleared his throat. "And I really do believe that you deserve to be happy."

Snape's thin face flared with anger. "No, I don't." he muttered.

"What?" Harry asked incredulously. "Of course you do! You did more than anyone in the war, except maybe Dumbledore, and you never asked for thanks or – "

"Stop!" Snape hissed angrily. "Potter, despite your incredibly overinflated ego and perceived intelligence, you do _not_ have the right to tell me how to live my life. I am perfectly capable of doing so myself – "

"No, you're not!" yelled Harry. "You keep blaming yourself for something that happened seventeen years ago, an honest mistake, and I know my mum would have for – "

"_ENOUGH_!" Snape roared, his rasp making him seem more dangerous. "Potter…get out."

Harry stared at him in disbelief, a mixed feeling of hurt and pity seeping into the pit of his stomach. "No."

"_Potter_,_"_ said Snape venomously. "Get OUT now. And DON'T come back." He shot Harry a withering glance and picked up his book, aggressively flipping the pages, anger still etched on the harsh lines of his face.

Harry picked up his book and stomped out of the Infirmary, furious. He was just trying to help the wretched man, after all! He thought it was the least he could do. But _why_ did he have to be so resistant?

Harry sighed dramatically and sank down to his knees against the stone wall. He knew it was too early to give up on the man, but he sure wasn't making it easy. Would the man_ ever_ let his guard down?


	6. Funeral

Severus continued his stay in the Infirmary for the days leading up to the funeral, much to his great displeasure and chagrin. Although his neck was slowly healing, it was still incredibly painful and difficult to move. Not to mention that he had – temporarily, at least – lost his prized, silky voice. Now it sounded raspy and irritated, as though he were a heavy smoker. Severus wrinkled his nose at that thought, imagining his own father screaming at him in the same raspy voice, a cigarette always in his hand.

Severus hoped his voice would improve rapidly.

Potter had not returned since Severus had spurned him, at least to his knowledge. He supposed he should feel some measure of guilt for being so caustic, but he still didn't understand the boy's foolish need or desire to be with him. And that business about Severus being _happy_?

In reflection, Severus had never been truly happy. His years of friendship with Lily were probably the happiest years of his life, but even they had been tainted in their own ways, both by his father's domestic abuse and bullying at the hands of the Marauders. Perhaps the first few years of his life had been decent, before the abuse started in earnest and his parents had still loved each other, but Severus couldn't remember those. Certainly, he had never been happy again after Lily's death.

But this lack of happiness didn't bother Severus. It certainly had when he was younger; sometimes he wondered why people smiled so much, and he so little. He supposed it wasn't in his nature to laugh or express happiness, but he also knew it was because he just didn't have as many reasons to smile as most did. But now he knew, deep down, that after what he had done – not only indirectly killing Lily, but also participating in activities through the Dark Lord – he did not deserve happiness. He deserved the lonely, miserable existence that he had. Even now that he was "free" as Potter had put it, his guilt and shame were not assuaged. When Potter had had the nerve to bring up those sensitive topics, Severus had responded in the only way he knew how – lashing out.

Now, he was struggling to put on his robes. Minerva had come to him earlier in the morning to tell him about the funeral, asking him if he wanted to go. Originally he had responded in the negative, telling her he was too weak to go anywhere, but then a small voice in his head whispered _coward_. He knew that he had to go to the funeral, not to weep or mourn for the dead, but to face the shame and guilt that he felt for failing to protect all those innocent lives.

Too proud to accept Poppy's help, he now sat in the bed changing with great difficulty. He sighed loudly when it took his several minutes to maneuver his arm through a single sleeve. Severus hated weakness, especially when it could not be immediately remediated, and felt a new wave of hatred towards the Dark Lord for so carelessly trying to kill him.

Severus shook his head. He no longer had to refer to him as the Dark Lord. _Voldemort_.

After several agonizing minutes, he finally dressed and opened the curtains to see Minerva. She gingerly helped him to his feet and transfigured a nearby pillow into a long, black cane. Severus gratefully leaned on it, muttering his thanks, and trudged outside the Infirmary. Although he initially refused it, he eventually grasped Minerva's arm for additional support, cursing the damn snake again in his mind.

The funeral was held on the expansive Hogwarts grounds. Dozens of dead bodies, appearing to rest peacefully, lay out on small tables near Dumbledore's white tomb. Although most were adults, there were some children that could not have been over ten, Severus realized with a start. Their peaceful faces somehow fit in with the stunning beauty of the cloudless sky and flat lake behind.

Hundreds of chairs also sat in neatly arranged rows near the tombs, adorned with gold and black. A small, modest podium was placed at the front. Nearly all the chairs were filled, but the podium remained empty.

Severus attempted to move away from Minerva, trying to remain inconspicuous and sneak into one of the back rows, but she met his gaze and shook her head sharply. She reaffirmed her strong grip on his arm and led them down the aisle to the very front row.

As they walked, Severus was shocked to hear the gasps and murmurs of his own name. "Is that _Snape_?" "Oh my god, it's _Snape_!" "Look at his neck. The poor man!"

He kept his gaze straightforward and his expression impassive, still holding onto Minerva arm but trying to appear more dignified. After an excruciatingly long walk, they finally reached the first row. Severus was surprised to see that the first row's chairs were larger and grander than those of other rows, and the chair second from the aisle had his name on it. He collapsed into it as Minerva sat at his side, Filius on the other. The little man gave him a small smile and murmured his name in greeting.

The funeral passed by slowly. Minerva – who had been made the new Hogwarts headmistress, at Snape's suggestion and insistence – gave a long, heartfelt speech which was followed by small eulogies for each of the fallen. Severus saw a tall, sandy-haired man with a mild face, who could only be Lupin's father, embracing Nymphadora's mother, Andromeda, after giving his son's eulogy. Severus had momentarily started when he first saw the woman – her resemblance to Bellatrix was striking – but relaxed when he saw her smile. Bellatrix had never smiled kindly like that before.

Severus briefly wondered who would have given his eulogy had he died. If he would have been counted amongst these heroes, or if his body would have been uncelebrated like Bellatrix's. He wondered if anyone would have shed a tear.

None of the eulogies quite affected Severus – grief and death were certainly not new to him, after all – until George Weasley's. The boy was so anguished that he could not continue on until the youngest Weasley boy went up to the podium and squeezed his shoulder, fighting back tears himself. He seemed to gain momentary composure and spoke of his brother thickly, his voice hoarse and thick, until the end. He completely broke down, falling to his knees, and then it took two more of his brothers to come on the podium and help him, tears streaming down their own faces. George Weasley's face was soon obscured by his brothers' arms, but the raw agony and immense pain in his expression were clear. Severus could feel Minerva shaking with sobs next to him, and was surprised to feel his own eyes prickle momentarily, almost as if with tears.

After the eulogies Minerva got up again to make a short closing speech, followed by a brief one by Kingsley. Severus felt completely exhausted, even though he had not moved the entire funeral, and was ready to return to bed and forget all the pain he had witnessed. He was thankful it was almost over.

But alas, as he turned his eyes up to the podium, he saw Potter standing there, his eyes red-rimmed from crying and twisting his hands nervously. Severus raised his eyebrows at Minerva and she quietly explained that he had requested to speak at the end of the funeral, before the tables were turned into tombs. Severus saw Harry glance into the throng of people where he knew the boy's infernal friends were sitting, and the boy, seeming to draw strength from their response, cleared his throat and stood up straight.

"Hello," Potter said. "There are a few things I would like to say before we conclude…"

The boy prated on – incoherently at times, Severus thought – about his endless gratitude for all those who died for him, specifically naming Lupin, Nymphadora, and George Weasley. He described the journey he had been on for the last year, briefly explaining the Horcruxes and the prophecy, and the Elder Wand. He included Severus in the explanation, but briefly.

The boy appeared to be done, and Severus breathed with relief, sitting up and preparing to leave momentarily. He was about to fall asleep sitting in that chair, and he did not want to further bruise his ego by collapsing in front of all these people.

"There is one last thing I would like to say." Potter said pointedly, drawing himself up to full height. A classic James Potter stance, Severus thought. "There is an infinite number of people whom I would like to thank, and though many of them have passed away, some are still here, fortunately. There are three people here today without whom I would not be standing here right now, and without whom Voldemort would likely still be alive and reigning in terror. The first two are the two who have been with me from my first term at Hogwarts." Potter's eyes took on a blazed, teary look as he stared into the audience at Granger and Weasley. "Ron and Hermione, I will never be able to thank you for taking the journey with me to hunt down Horcruxes. Without your bravery, and brilliance, and endless loyalty, I would not be here…I cannot describe how lucky I was and am to have you two as my best friends." Potter cleared his throat, eyes scanning the crowd. Severus felt slight curiosity at who this third person might be; Minerva? Longbottom? Or perhaps, Severus thought with faint amusement, that psychotic girl Luna Lovegood.

"The third person is Severus Snape."

_Oh, Merlin, Potter_. Minerva gave him a small sideways smile. He scowled pronouncedly.

"Many of you know that I briefly alluded to…Professor Snape's loyalties in my final battle with Hogwarts, and cleared his name with the Ministry. But I have never publicly thanked him." Potter cleared his throat again, now looking right at Severus. Severus tried to make his expression angry, but found he had too little energy. Damn snake.

"There are all kinds of powers in the wizarding world. There is the power of intelligence, as Hermione possesses…the power of humor and laughter, as Ron knows. Then there are the powers were learn at school – the power of a potent potion, the power of a spells, the power of a strong and gifted wizard or witch. But all of these powers pale, incredibly, in comparison with the ultimate power: that of love." Severus inwardly snorted. The boy sounded like a more maudlin version of Dumbledore.

"The prophecy that Voldemort heard said that I would have a power that he knew not. For years I wondered if I had some magical, special power that was yet undiscovered by him, and I figured that would be my best bet. Yet it soon became apparent that I was merely a teenage boy, and Voldemort was a fully grown and disturbingly intelligent wizard. But as I grew older, I began to believe the words Professor Dumbledore had told me – that my weapon was not complex, or remarkable, or even tangible; it was the power of love. Something Voldemort had never, and could never, understand." Potter continued to stare straight at Severus. Infernal boy.

"I thought that only _my _ability to love would save me. But I was wrong; Professor Snape's ability to love is what has protected me all these years. It takes incredibly bravery to face Voldemort, day after day, knowing that you are defying him, and the power of his love for my mum is what gave Professor Snape this strength. It is exactly the kind of thing Dumbledore always preached. Perhaps I should have listened to him a bit more." The boy gave a small smile. "So, Professor Snape, you have my endless gratitude. You are perhaps a bigger hero in this war than I am."

All eyes were on Severus. He could hear some of them sniffling loudly, trying to stop tears. Why were people crying about _him_? But he could see they were expecting some sort of reaction. He normally would not have responded at all, had Minerva not been next to him, heeding with her eyes. It was like Dumbledore all over again; Severus felt a need to obey her orders, even unspoken ones.

He turned his face back to Potter and nodded slowly, his eyes widening slightly in acknowledgement. Potter smiled briefly in return and then, along with Minerva and Kingsley, ignited the bodies until they were all encased in small white tombs. They were not as grand as Dumbledore's, but Severus supposed they were still decent. An enchanted orchestra played a depressing melody in the background.

People began to get up slowly, wiping their eyes, and chatting amongst themselves. Minerva quickly went up to hug some of the family members of the dead, leaving Severus at his seat.

Well, he certainly wasn't about to ask anyone for help except Minerva. And he wasn't foolish enough to get up, knowing he would collapse and dozens would rush to his aid; he truly hated mollycoddling. He sighed dramatically, remaining in his seat. Minerva had better finish speaking soon.

He stared at the wide array of tombs until he felt a tentative tap on his shoulder. "Professor?" a quiet voice asked. Severus turned slightly to see that Granger had taken Minerva's seat. "May I sit down?"

Severus stared. Why did she want to sit next to him? But he nodded slightly, casting her an indifferent glance and returning his gaze to the tombs.

"Professor," Granger said quietly, "erm…Ron and I would like to thank you as well. For everything you did. It can't have been easy, and what you did…was beautiful." She sighed, contemplatively looking at the lake. "I always told Harry that he was too hard on you. It turns out we all were." She cast him a sideways glance, looking remarkably like Minerva. "But there is something I would like to…erm…suggest."

Snape spared a brief glance at her, eyebrows raised. A suggestion for him?

"More of a remark, really," she said hastily. "Harry told me that you two had gotten in a bit of a...squabble. And I understand that you must be feeling a wide myriad of emotions right now. But Harry…Harry has so much to offer, so much good inside him. I think you two would be…beneficial for each other. It wouldn't hurt to talk to him. From what he's told me of the memories…he's a lot like his mother. Possibly even more forgiving." Granger gave him a small, knowing smile and stood up. She reached out her hand as if to pat his shoulder but, thinking better, quickly retracted it and walked away.

Severus stared after her. A _relationship_ with _Potter_? She must be barking mad.


	7. Return

Harry knew he was being stupid. Snape had clearly said he didn't want to see him, but Harry couldn't simply not speak to the man ever again. Although he likely wouldn't come back to Hogwarts to finish his seventh year, he did not want to break contact with Snape forever. It seemed wrong.

Harry's mum had seen something in Snape, something that made him someone worthy to befriend and love. He had seen the way Lily looked at Snape in those memories; with great respect and affection. Harry could see the anguish and pain on her face when she ended her friendship with Snape, and Harry inadvertently thought of all the fights he had had with Ron and Hermione.

Thus, Harry made his way back up to the Infirmary in the afternoon, a few days after the funeral. He had spent a quiet morning with Ginny; it had been lovely to see her again, to be able to talk with her, alone, without her brothers around, however well-meaning they were. However, Fred's loss hung heavy between them. Harry could see in Ginny's eyes and behavior that it would be a while before she recovered.

She told him that she and her family were going on a two-week long trip to Australia for some long-sought togetherness and healing time. Oddly enough, their destination had been Hermione's parents' recommendation; although they were blissful to be reunited with their daughter, they had raved about the people and culture of Australia.

Harry had nodded as she told him, and Ginny had seemed relieved by his reaction. He assured her that he completely understood and thought that some strictly-Weasley time would be incredibly beneficial for all involved. She muttered an apology for not inviting him but again he waved her off, assuring her that he had plenty to do and plenty of people with whom to spend time. It was only two weeks, after all; not much could happen in two weeks.

After he had bid farewell to her and the rest of the Weasleys – his ribs hurt from all the strong hugs he had received – he Owled Hermione asking if she was planning on returning to Hogwarts for a few days. She was at home with her parents, also catching up on some much-needed quality time.

Harry wished he had someone with whom he could spend that time. Someone who had cared where he had been all year.

Sighing, he pushed the door to the Infirmary open, dragging a large bag behind him, and scanned the beds for the signature jet-black hair. But he did not see Snape.

Panic immediately settled in his chest; his heart began to beat quickly. He thought Snape had been improving…the snake bites were nearly healed…he couldn't be…

Harry felt a warm hand on his shoulder and looked sideways to see Madame Pomfrey smiling kindly at him. "Hello, Mr. Potter. I presume you're looking for Professor Snape?" He nodded quickly. "Well, his condition has improved enough that I have allowed him to return to his own quarters. With a house-elf, of course, to tend to his needs." Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Madame Pomfrey glanced at the large bag, her brow furrowing, and said quietly, "I'm sure he would not be too bothered if you paid him a visit down there. You were very helpful while he was recovering, you know. You would make a decent Healer."

Harry nodded uncertainly. It hadn't been really intrusive to visit Snape in the hospital wing – it was open to everyone, and it hadn't ever been just the two of them in the room. But visiting Snape in his own space seemed much more personal and much more…deliberate. Knowing the man's feelings toward him, Harry felt rather disinclined to go to the dungeons and face him alone. He would probably hex him, Harry thought with faint amusement.

"You know," Madame Pomfrey said contemplatively, "I've always said that Severus would make a great Healer." Harry raised his eyebrows. "Yes, yes, he would of course have to work on his bedside manner…but he's a natural at healing. A few times over the years, there has been a surplus of students in here, too many for me to care for, due to an epidemic or outbreak. I have always relied on Severus to come help me." She stared out the window. "Most people don't think the man has a caring bone in his body, but I've seen the way he treated sick students. Perhaps he wasn't as gentle or kind as myself, but he was very swift and thorough. Always calm in a crisis." Her smile turned to a sad frown. "And of course, I've seen Severus be on the other end of that too. Albus often brought him in here after particularly nasty Death Eater meetings, despite Severus's protests that he could handle it himself. Often dealing with the aftereffects of the Cruciatus, he was sometimes rendered senseless. For such a stoic, fearless, composed man…seeing him in that much pain broke my heart." She patted Harry's shoulder. "You should visit him."

Harry smiled tentatively back at her. "I will," he said and swept out the doors and down to the dungeons.

Harry had no idea where Snape lived. It was strange, even now, to imagine his old professor in anywhere domestic; he had always pictured him just living in his office, never sleeping. Snape had always seemed to be one of those superhuman types who didn't require food or sleep.

He supposed the man's quarters must be attached to his office, somehow. Although he had probably lived in Dumbledore's old quarters while he was headmaster, Harry knew that McGonagall, as newly instated headmistress, was now residing there. He had heard that she moved Snape's belongings back to his old office at his wish, as Slughorn had retired. And after years of miserable detentions, he certainly knew where his office was. So Harry made his way down to the dungeon, nostalgically thinking of his Hogwarts days and all the memories of Potions classes, and paused before the door. He took a deep breath and knocked.

He was surprised to hear immediate shuffling behind the door, before seeing it opened into Snape's empty office. Had he opened the door from another room? But as Harry spared a glance downward, he saw who had opened the door. "Kreacher!" he exclaimed.

"Harry Potter," the house-elf greeted. "Are you wishing to see Professor Snape? I am collecting books to bring him." Kreacher, indeed, had an armful of dark, old, tattered books from Snape's desk. Everything looked as his had the years Harry had spent serving detentions; he supposed McGonagall had gone to painstaking lengths to ensure everything was comfortable and familiar for Snape.

"Er, yes, I am," Harry said uncertainly.

"I will bring you to him, sir, he is sleeping. He didn't say anything about visitors because after he told Kreacher to get books, he fell asleep. Kreacher thinks he is still very tired and weak, sir." He glanced at Harry's big bag. "Would Harry Potter like Kreacher to take that, sir?"

"That's okay, Kreacher. I got it." Harry said. "So, er, where is Sn- Professor Snape?"

Kreacher hesitated for a moment and then shook his head. "In here, Harry Potter," the small elf walked over to a thin bookshelf and touched it delicately, causing it to quickly materialize into a solid wood door. Kreacher opened it and gestured for Harry to follow him up a long and winding staircase.

The staircase ended and opened into a surprisingly well-lit hallway. Two closed doors lined the hallway, which opened up into a combined living room and kitchen.

Harry was astonished at Snape's furniture choices. He had been expecting it to look like the Slytherin common room, but the colors were surprisingly warm. The hallway and room walls, Harry realized, weren't the usual stone walls of the dungeon, but instead normal clapboard, painted a soft green. The floor, similarly, was grey-stained wood. Large windows – Harry realized they must be above ground, due to the stairs – showed a view of the castle's expansive grounds and were framed by grey curtains. Large bookcases lined the living room walls, and a beige couch sat in front of a large fireplace. Two light blue, plush chairs were faced perpendicular to the couch, and a mahogany coffee table sat between them. The kitchen had chestnut cabinets and basic appliances, with a simple wooden table and set of three chairs around it.

Harry was startled to see, upon closer inspection, that Snape was lying asleep on the couch. Kreacher led him over, finger held to his lips, and deposited the books quietly on the coffee table.

Snape was wearing a gray t-shirt and soft, plaid blue pajama bottoms. Harry was surprised to see the man wearing Muggle clothing, but Harry knew he had grown up in a Muggle neighborhood. Perhaps he still followed some of the customs.

He looked emaciated under the sun's light; his ribs were still visible through the cotton of his shirt, and his arms, though surprisingly muscular, looked thin and weak. His color remained deathly pale as always. The thick bandages remained on his neck, obscuring the wounds. With a start, Harry recognized the Dark Mark as Snape shifted positions, its darkness contrasting with the pearly whiteness of Snape's skin. Although it had faded somewhat from black to grey, it still retained its ugly shape. Harry briefly wondered if Snape could or would have it removed.

Snape shifted again and Harry was struck by how young the professor looked. The lines of his face were softened by the peace of sleep, and he cocked his head towards his pillow like a child snuggling into a parent. Harry, after a moment's hesitation, quietly transfigured a pillow on one of the chairs into a wool blanket. He quickly settled it on Snape's shoulders, trying not to touch the man and subsequently wake him.

But the moment the fabric touched Snape's bare skin, the man's eyes flashed open and before he knew what was happening, Harry found himself immobile on the floor. Snape was standing over him looking terrifying, his wand held tightly in his hand and his face livid and furious.

"Potter!" he hissed, appearing to feel simultaneous relief and anger. The transfigured blanket lay at his feet. "_What are you doing here_?"

Harry was rather happy he was immobilized, and could not respond, because he figured anything he said would give reason for Snape to hex him. He widened his eyes, in what was really anger at Snape, but what he hoped the man perceived as an apology.

After a few tense moments Snape dramatically sighed and, with a lazy flick of his wand, muttered the countercurse and returned Harry to mobility. The boy scrambled to his feet, massaging the pain in his back where he had fallen, and stared defiantly at Snape.

"So?" Snape said impatiently, still looking furious. "Why are you in my own space, Potter? Trying to bother me on my personal time?"

"I was checking on you!" Harry said hotly. "Madame Pomfrey told me you had moved back down here and suggested I pay you a visit. Kreacher let me in – " Snape threw the house-elf a death glare, which caused him to shrink back a little – "so I didn't break in or anything!" Harry held his gaze. "I was trying to put a blanket on you."

Something quickly passed in Snape's impassive expression but after a moment it was gone. "I don't need you to babysit me, Potter." He growled, sneering. "I am perfectly capable of recovering on my own." As he said this, his legs trembled weakly. Before he could grip the couch to steady himself, Snape fell to his knees.

Without thinking, Harry rushed over and helped Snape back to the couch, despite the man's livid protests and deathly glares. He tried to push Harry away but his arms were far too weak, the touch barely even registering to Harry. He scowled as Harry resettled the wool blanket around him, quickly touching the man's arm to bring it up snugly around his shoulders.

Noticing Snape's dry, parched lips, Harry conjured a glass of water and shoved it in front of Snape before he could protest. Scowling deeper than ever, the man hesitated momentarily and then drank it one gulp, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

Harry looked around uncertainly, wondering what he should do. Technically he had checked up on Snape and the man was fine, right? But he had also not expressly told Harry to leave, yet. He wanted to milk the man's….neutral mood as long as it lasted.

He sat down on one of the plush blue armchairs with a loud thump. Snape's eyes opened again, surveying Harry with distaste, and travelled to the floor where Harry's huge canvas bag lay. "What is _that_?" He asked rudely.

Harry's lips turned up into a small smile. "You're not going to believe it."

Snape closed his eyes in irritation. "Potter, before your histrionics and insolent behavior bring me to an untimely death –"

"Okay, okay!" Harry dragged the bag to him and glanced cheekily up at Snape. "It's fan mail."

Snape eyed him with greater dislike than ever. "You brought your fan mail to _my _quarters, Potter? As I've said before, I don't care if you defeated Voldemort, I am not a member of the Harry Potter fan –"

Harry startled with surprise when Snape said Voldemort's name, feeling a little pleasure that the man no longer had to refer to him as the "Dark Lord". But he quickly cut Snape off.

"No, no, professor," Harry said quickly. "_Your_ fan mail."

Snape looked at him blankly. "What?"

Harry opened the bag, pulling out a few letters and showing their envelopes to Snape. "Severus Snape" was written on each of the envelopes, in all different variations of handwriting. One fan had drawn a heart around the name, which was flashing green and black.

"Er, yeah," Harry said, feeling slightly amused at the look of utter bewilderment on Snape's face. "Professor McGonagall told me to deliver these to you, they came in with tons of owls this morning. I opened just a few, to see what they were about, and…yeah." He bit his lip, unable to keep the smile off his face. "Some are just thank-you letters, but many are love letters. Some of which are very…graphic." He wrinkled his nose. "And there are a few, er, marriage proposals. Mostly from women, but a few from men."

Harry shoved a handful of letters into Snape's hand. He watched the man open one, his expression disgusted and disdainful, and read it (from a fair distance) over his shoulder.

_Dearest Severus Snape,_

_Hello! I am Wanda Mason of Yorkshire. It is truly an honor to write this letter to you, one of the biggest heroes in the history of the wizarding world. You were a couple years ahead of me at Hogwarts, but I was always immensely attracted to your brilliance and individuality, both of which have continued so wonderfully into your adulthood! I would just like to say that what you did for Lily Evans was truly beautiful; you are a true hero and worthy of endless love and care. You may think it is too soon but I already feel that I can honestly say I love you. As great as Lily Evans was, I know that you need a woman to fill that large hole in your heart. Would you please do me the great honor of marrying me? I am a very attractive woman, my –_

Harry only got that far reading because with a snort of disgust, Snape crumpled up the letter and threw it into the fireplace. It ignited immediately and within seconds, was a pile of ashes.

"How many have you read?" Snape asked, eyes narrowed.

"Just a few," Harry said defensively.

"Are they all like that?"

Harry nodded slowly. "I think so," he said.

"Take them, then. Take the bag and burn them, or keep them and read for your own pleasure, I don't care. But I do not want them. Reading the pathetic, maudlin whinings and wishes of depraved women is a waste of my time. And," he added as an afterthought, "is quite depressing."

Harry pushed his luck. "You mean you don't want to marry Wanda Mason?" he asked slyly, smirking.

Snape looked affronted for a second but then, to Harry's surprise, his eyes momentarily glinted with amusement and his mouth turned up in the briefest smirk, but one that was devoid of malice.

"Go away, Potter. You have thoroughly annoyed me today." The voice sounded annoyed, but was lacking its usual vitriol.

Harry glared at him but instead sat back down in one of the plush chairs and pulled the bag towards him. Kreacher had stopped staring at them and was now busy dusting books on the bookshelves, meticulously fingering the volumes as though they were precious jewels.

"Kreacher, would you mind bringing us some sandwiches?" Harry said offhandedly. Kreacher nodded viciously and disappeared with a crack.

"Potter, as much as your arrogance allows you to think you can make yourself at home anywhere," Snape said, "I need peace...and quiet…to…recover. Your…" But Snape's eyes slowly drifted shut; clearly the interaction with Harry had exhausted him. Within moments he was snoring soundly.

Harry smirked at the man, making himself comfortable on the chair and opening up several more letters. He snorted at the majority of them, privately pitying the poor women who thought Snape would ever accept their marriage proposal, and feeling thoroughly depressed by the blatant desperation of the rest. He ate the sandwiches Kreacher had brought ravenously, but made sure to leave a few for Snape. The dying sun bled into orange and red before finally disappearing, enveloping the room in darkness save the few candles Harry had lit to continue reading.

Eventually, as the night dragged on, the words of Snape's fan mail began to blur before Harry and he too drifted off to sleep, forgetting that he was in the private home of someone who hated him and would probably be furious to discover he had fallen asleep.

A few moments after Harry fell asleep, Kreacher led Madame Pomfrey in the room to do a quick diagnostic check on Snape. After spelling some more potions into his system and pulling the blanket firmly around his thin shoulders, she conjured one for Harry too and settled it gently on the boy.

Watching both sleeping men affectionately, she was struck by the thought that to any outsider, this would look like a father and son falling asleep in their living room after a long day. With a small smile at that thought, Madame Pomfrey sauntered out of the room and back down the stairs.


	8. News

Severus woke abruptly after a nightmare involving Voldemort and Bellatrix torturing him at Malfoy Manor. He sat up slowly, feeling stronger than he had previously but still shaken and cold. He sighed wearily; he hated being so weak and helpless, it was completely uncharacteristic and left him feeling remarkably childish. He instinctively pulled the blanket covering his body closer, until he remembered that he had not put it himself as he had fallen asleep accidentally. Perhaps Poppy, she had mentioned she would be up to bring him more potions…

He gingerly attempted to stand up off the couch before seeing a sleeping black lump on the chair beside him, surrounded by a mass of floating candles. Severus huffed internally. _Potter_.

Potter, too, was draped in a large blanket. Poppy must have come then…why had she not woken him? Why had she allowed the infernal child to remain in Severus's quarters when his presence was clearly undesired?

Snape glared down at Potter and tried to determine the most irritating and disruptive way to wake him up. He noticed Potter was sprawled in a very childish pose, in the fetus position with his own hand cupping his chin, but then realized that the "boy" was now seventeen – a man in the wizarding world. But he looked so…juvenile in his pose, almost…peaceful. Severus had the strangest desire to take Potter's glasses off, which were digging into the side of the chair and were probably causing him slight discomfort, but he immediately fought it down. What did it matter to him if the boy was uncomfortable?

He distractedly noticed Potter clutching a few more of those dratted _love_ letters – truly, Severus mused, the utter idiocy of humankind would never cease to amaze him. However, though he would never admit it outright and barely to himself, they had been the slightest, slightest bit amusing. Perhaps Potter had brought them to entertain himself, at Severus's expense; he'd known the man would be uncomfortable. He was just like his bloody father, drawing entertainment from the discomfort and embarrassment of others. With that bitter thought in mind, any temporarily…neutral…thoughts toward Potter immediately dispelled, and Severus shook him awake very roughly, hissing his name like a curse.

"Wha-" Potter asked dumbly, lifting his face to reveal one lens cracked on his glasses. Severus felt a spark of internal satisfaction.

"Get up." Severus ordered harshly, roughly yanking the wool blanket off the boy. "Potter, despite your title as the hero and savior of the wizarding world, you do not own the world or even this castle. When I asked you to leave before, I was not practicing my voice. Falling asleep in my personal quarters is unspeakably intrusive and rude, and it goes without saying that you are not welcome here. Thus, do not come here again. I am entirely capable of facilitating my own recovery and in fact, you and your idiocy probably would – already have, in fact – slowed the process down." He narrowed his eyes. "Now go back to the tower."

The boy was still rubbing his eyes but Severus could see the hateful glance through his hands. Potter drew his mouth into a thin line and stood up quickly. Severus realized that the boy was only a few inches shorter than him, but he used the slight height advantage to glare menacingly.

Potter stared at him defiantly for a few tense seconds and finally said, "I'm not giving up. But you are making this bloody difficult by being such an arse." He quickly strode out of the room and back down the stairs, before Severus could attack him for his unbelievable disrespect. Really, _who_ did the boy think he was?

Severus sat down wearily, trying to remain angry but finding that is required too much energy. He realized that Potter had left the bag of fan mail beside the chair. Severus threw the package a contemptuous glance and lifting his wand, gathered all the letters into the bag together and levitated it into the fire where, within moments, the vast flames reduced it to mere ashes.

Severus remained in his quarters recovering for the next few days, spending his blissfully quiet and carefree days reading or brewing potions when he had the energy. Slowly, due to frequent visits from Poppy and the aid of several potions, he was gaining back his physical and magical strength. Towards the end of the week he was feeling nearly back to normal, despite the damn neck wounds. Those were healing at a much slower rate and were still causing great discomfort when he slept.

To his immense relief, Potter did not show up again. Although Minerva had stopped in twice, the visits were both brief and did not require much energy. Severus knew that if he wanted to gain back his health as quickly as possible, his body needed all his focus and time. He could not waste it making small talk with others, not to mention he could not even stand the _sight_ of Potter.

It was with great reluctance that he agreed to go to breakfast Saturday morning, and he only did so because Minerva practically ordered him to. If only he could stop obeying orders from the headmaster of Hogwarts…it seemed to be chronic problem for him. She claimed that people were asking questions and wanted to make sure he was alright. Severus had snorted and asked if these "people" included Potter. She had given him a strange look, nodding yes, and then patronizingly told him that it was not a crime to care for the well-being of someone else. He had scowled pronouncedly.

Alas, he now made his way up to the dining hall, miraculously without his cane but walking at a slow pace. When he finally entered he walked quickly to the professors' table, ignoring the stares and whispers, and sat next to Minerva, who smiled at him widely. He tucked his head down and began to eat his eggs, despite not being that hungry. He needed to put on some weight if he wanted to get stronger, he mused, forcing down the food.

Suddenly, as all the owls delivered the day's post, a large and glossy brown owl dropped an official-looking letter on his plate. Scowling, Severus looked at it curiously. It had a Ministry seal. Feeling momentary panic that he could be tried for Azkaban, he opened it quickly, scanning the letter for key words.

_Dear Mr. Snape, _

_This is Meredith Kelly writing from the Auror Department at the Ministry of Magic. It has come to our attention that despite our best efforts, we have not been able to track down Tom Riddle's remaining Death Eaters in as timely a fashion we had hoped. Unfortunately, we have reason to believe that one of them, Rudolphus Lestrange, has decided to follow in his master's footsteps and target Harry Potter once again. We would like to arrange a meeting with Minerva McGonagall, yourself, and Mr. Potter at your earliest convenience to discuss this development and devise a plan of action. Please write back promptly with a time, date, and location that would work for you. _

_Sincerely,_

_Meredith Kelly_

_Auror Department _

Severus glared up at the ceiling, sighing deeply. So, Potter was being hunted again, this time by Rudolphus Lestrange? Severus had known Rudolphus when he was a Death Eater, and the man had not been as devoted to Voldemort as his wife, but was perhaps a shade more skillful. He had certainly idolized Voldemort, but had always appeared slightly disdained when Bellatrix would flaunt her disgusting love for her master, so distastefully. Severus knew that Rudolphus had loved his wife fiercely, in a similar way to her love for Voldemort. He also remembered him as a flaming racist, always taking markedly perverse pleasure and torturing and killing Muggle-borns and Muggles.

Severus sighed again, thinking of Lily and his promise to Dumbledore to protect Harry. Technically, since Dumbledore was dead his promise was void, right? He was no longer bound by loyalty. But he knew in his conscience that that promise had truly been to Lily – or rather, her memory – instead of Dumbledore. Thus, he would have to continue to protect the blasted boy. Well, his two minutes of freedom had been nice while they lasted.

But Severus was confused as to why he was involved in the situation with the Aurors. Minerva made sense, she was the headmistress at the school where he had been staying, probably the closest thing to a guardian the boy had now. But why Severus? Upon ruminating, he supposed it had to do with his role as a Death Eater. Perhaps they thought he could give them tips or information on Rudolphus, he thought bitterly.

He quickly explained the situation to Minerva, who immediately looked deeply distressed and disturbed. He scribbled a quick reply to the Aurors to meet them in Minerva's office at 3 the next day. Casting a momentary glance at Potter to see if he had a clue what was going on – unlikely, Severus mused – he saw the boy watching the pair of them with trepidation and confusion, clutching a letter of his own. Minerva quickly got up to go speak to him but Severus stayed where he was, scowling darkly and wondering why he was cursed with having to protect the most targeted boy in the history of the wizarding world.

Severus entered Minerva's office the next day, possessing his usual calm and unaffected demeanor but privately feeling slight trepidation. Despite years working for Dumbledore, and years being protected by Dumbledore, he always felt uneasy around Aurors because of his past. They could still arrest him at any moment and bring him to Azkaban, though Severus had heard through the grapevine that Dementors were no longer being used at the prison. Still, spending his life in a prison cell in the middle of the ocean did not sound ideal.

Severus nodded curtly to Meredith Kelly, who, at six feet tall with her dark hair pulled into a tight bun, did admittedly look intimidating. Severus remembered that she had joined the Order of the Phoenix late in the war, a few weeks before he had killed Dumbledore. He nodded less politely to Mark Savage, standing beside her and looking similarly intimidating with his tall stature and rigid features. Minerva conjured four chairs and indicated for them to sit. Potter, as usual, was late. Probably considered himself above the rules more than ever now, probably wanted to impress the Aurors with his fame and prestige…

"Mr. Snape," Kelly said unexpectedly, her face softening as she looked across at Severus, "both Mark and I would like to extend our thanks for your actions in the war. After you killed Albus Dumbledore, you actually became one of our top targets, behind Voldemort and…Bellatrix Lestrange." She spoke the name loathingly, but smiled slightly at him. "I was extremely pleased to hear that you had actually been on our side all along." Savage's hard line of a mouth curved briefly into a small smile behind her. Severus, unsure what to say or do, nodded lightly and looked back to Minerva, whose face showed a variety of conflicting emotions.

Suddenly Potter ran into the office, his face red and breathing hard, seeming temporarily awe-struck by the formidable appearance of the two Aurors. He hesitated momentarily and then took the seat next to Severus.

"Sorry I'm late – I was talking to Nev –"

"You always like to make startling entrances, don't you, Potter?" Severus growled, eyeing the boy distastefully. Potter shot him a glare. The two Aurors briefly shared an uneasy look, bemusing Severus – why would they care if he and the boy didn't get along well?

"Mr. Potter," Kelly spoke, extending her hand across the chairs, "it is an immense honor to meet you. Your actions and abilities go without saying. My sources tell me that you once desired to become an Auror; I understand that it is likely much too early for you to decide on any career paths, but I would like to say on behalf of myself, Mark, and the entire Auror department, that we would be delighted to have you in our ranks."

_Oh, wonderful_. Severus thought. The boy's head was already unbelievably inflated, now he would get even cockier from this praise and obsequiousness. He hadn't even taken the N.E.W.T.s! He watched Potter take Kelly's hand, quietly thanking her, with a strangely flushed but…embarrassed expression? He probably just didn't want the Aurors to think he was too arrogant, Severus thought.

Severus waited for one of the Aurors to start talking, curious as to his role in the entire matter.

"Alright," Savage said, clasping his hands together, "it is time to discuss the matter at hand. Mr. Potter, you received our letter yesterday?" Potter nodded, fear clouding his expression. Pathetic.

"Yeah, I did. So, er, Bellatrix Lestrange's…husband…is after me? How do you know?"

"We have captured various other Death Eaters who were on the run with him in recent weeks, and upon the use of Veritaserum we have discovered that Lestrange, who was deeply devoted to his wife, blames you for her death. He has transferred his obsessive, psychotic aims to capturing and killing you." Savage spoke bluntly, which Severus appreciated. No use walking on eggshells around the boy, who had blanched.

"However," interjected Kelly, staring slightly concernedly at the boy, who was turning remarkably white, "this is not a major reason for concern. The entire Auror department has made it our sole mission to find and imprison Rudolphus, and to keep you safe. We do not predict that this will be a long or arduous process; Rudolphus is a skilled wizard, but not nearly as powerful as Voldemort. However, it has come to our attention that you may not be entirely safe at the castle. May I ask, what are your plans for the rest of the summer?"

"Er- what?" the boy asked, seeming bemused by the change of topic. "Well, I s'pose I was planning on spending the summer here…a couple other students are too, I was thinking I could study and catch up on some work I missed" – _as if_, Snape thought – "and then, er, next year I wasn't really sure if I was going to repeat my seventh year or…try to get a job. And live on my own."

The Aurors both nodded. "But you have no immediate, pressing plans?" Potter shook his head.

"Alright. Well, it goes without saying that as the savior of the wizarding world" – Severus closed his eyes in irritation, he could practically see the boy's ego growing each minute – "your safety is also a top priority of the Ministry. Like we said, the castle is normally incredibly safe, but as of now you need to be with one person whose top priority is your safety. We want to place you at home with someone who has the utmost capabilities." Severus sighed internally; why was he here? They had already discussed Lestrange and had not asked him any questions.

"Oh," said Potter, nodding. "So, one of you? Another Auror?"

"Well," said Savage, frowning a little, "we had originally deemed that an ideal course of action, as of course we are all extremely skilled in catching Dark wizards. However, we decided that our efforts would be better put to use in catching Lestrange, not necessarily protecting you. And," he said, frowning a little more, "we ascertained that we are, perhaps, not the most skilled people possible for the job."

"What?" Potter's expression was blank. "But you're…Aurors." Merlin, the boy was brilliant.

"Yes," Kelly said, smiling briefly, "we are. But Aurors are not the only powerful wizards."

"Uh, okay." Potter said uncertainly, "so who are you planning on putting me with? Another Ministry member?" Severus himself felt similarly bewildered – and again, why was he here? It seemed the Aurors were being purposefully facetious.

"No." Savage said. "We decided that, due to an extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts and Lestrange himself, as well as proven magical ability and a vested interest in your protection…we would like to place you with Severus Snape."

There were a few tense moments as everyone digested the information and then Severus exploded. "NO!" he roared, standing up quickly and staring at them menacingly. "Potter cannot – I do not – live with me – significant mutual hatred –" He continued incoherently, seemingly rendered incapable of maintaining his usual mask of indifference due to extreme anger and desperation.

Potter similarly looked angry, though with more trepidation. "Please, Mr. Savage, Ms. Kelly…" he looked imploringly at Minerva. "Sn- Professor Snape hates me, it wouldn't do either of us good to be…alone together. Surely one of you or someone else could take me." He looked desperate. Severus was trying to control his anger and desperately thinking of ways out of this.

"No," interjected a voice, and Severus was extremely displeased to see that it was Minerva. He shot her the dirtiest look he could muster, but she stared back defiantly. "I know that Severus and Potter have a history of…mutual dislike." Well, that was a massive understatement. "But I think that in light of recent events and…discoveries," she raised her eyebrows meaningfully, "reconciliation is possible." Severus and Potter both snorted disbelievingly, sharing a hateful look. "And it is undeniable that Severus is incredibly talented, and has a history of protecting Potter. I think it is a fitting situation." Oh, Severus could kill her.

"Brill-" Kelly started to say brightly, but Severus cut her off.

"No!" he hissed angrily. "I need to spend this summer recovering, not _protecting_ Harry Potter again! You cannot force me to take the boy. It undeniably violates Ministry rules." He raised his eyebrows condescendingly.

"Mr. Snape." Savage said, pursing his lips. "We cannot deny your heroic role in the war, but it does not escape our notice that you undoubtedly participated in some gruesome Death Eater activities – you had to as a spy, we understand, we understand," he said quickly at Severus's murderous stare, "but we would appreciate if you would cooperate with us on this. It seems, to me, to be another step towards redemption."

Severus was seething. How dare they speak of redemption? They did not know the meaning of the word. He balled his hands into fists and noticed, surprised, that Potter was staring at him with resignation.

"Severus, I think it's a wonderful idea." Severus heard Dumbledore's bright voice and sharply directed his glance to the man's portrait. "I would highly recommend you accept Mark's and Meredith's offer. Please." His blues eyes twinkled like they always did when he was giving an order. Severus sighed angrily. Even in death, the man had power over him. Damn loyalty.

He took in a long breath of air and closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. He prized himself on his cool and calm demeanor, but his temper undeniably needed some work.

"Fine." He hissed finally. "But- "

"Wonderful!" said Kelly, bringing her hands together as though to clap. "So, as this matter is of great importance, I think that you both should depart for Severus's home as soon as possible. How about you both gather your belongings and meet in the entrance hall around 6, and can depart to your home from Hogsmeade." Severus did not nod, but stared back stonily in acknowledgement.

"Alright." Minerva stood up. "Thank you, Aurors, for your time. I'll see you boys both back here tonight." Had she just called Severus a_ boy_?

"We'll be in touch, Mr. Snape." Savage said as he passed by on the way out. "This arrangement is highly temporary, remember. Should only last for a week – a few at most." Savage and Kelly, with a final farewell nod to Potter and Minerva, swiftly made their way out the door.

"Severus." Minerva said, staring at him with a mixture of exasperation and annoyance. "Please be reasonable."

Severus threw both of them a dirty look and quickly swept outside, his black cloak billowing behind him.

"He'll come around," he heard Minerva say as the door closed. He heard Potter sigh in response.

Well, at least he and the boy agreed on one thing.


	9. Changes

**Author's note: I hope you are all enjoying the story so far! Hopefully things pick up a little bit in this chapter, the hatred between Snape and Harry decreases a little. Please keep reviewing! Enjoy!**

Harry trudged down the stairs toward the entrance hall at ten to six, trying to start off on a decent foot with Snape. His few belongings were enclosed in a small bag, which he had tucked within his robes, trying to make an inconspicuous escape as to not raise attention. He waited at the door anxiously, politely nodding at those who waved or goggled at him, flattening his hair and willing Snape to hurry up.

Snape appeared a few minutes later, clad in his usual black robes and not appearing to carry any luggage either. He swept past Harry without so much as a sideways glance, making his way out of the large doors and walking towards the gates. Harry, annoyed, struggled to keep up but Snape did nothing to slow his quick stride. His dramatically billowing robes and rapid pace sharply contrasted with the sunny, peaceful atmosphere of the dying summer afternoon.

Finally, after Harry felt like he had sped-walked a mile, they reached Hogwarts Station. Snape turned around slowly to face Harry, his face etched with dislike and derision. "Are you really that out of shape, Potter?" he asked condescendingly, observing Harry's red face and labored breathing.

"You were walking so bloody fast," Harry started angrily, "I couldn't keep up-"

"Language, Potter!" Snape hissed angrily. He looked stonily at Harry, and with the air of having to do something unpleasant, said, "Take my arm. We are going to Apparate."

But Harry didn't move. "I know how to Apparate myself. There is no need for the side-long kind."

Snape stared at Harry in disbelief but when he spoke his lips smirked. "You have truly surpassed the boundaries of human stupidity, Potter. I must say I am shocked that even you cannot draw logical conclusions of which a toddler would be capable." Harry clenched his jaw furiously. Snape spoke slowly, as though to someone hard of hearing. "You do not know where we are going, Potter. Only I do. Thus, we must Apparate…jointly."

Harry flushed with embarrassment, but still angered by Snape's words, turned away stonily. He grabbed Snape's arm, rather tightly to inflict a little pain, and felt experienced the familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tube.

Before he knew it, he was standing on the steps of a rather bleak-looking house. Snape approached the door, unlocking it, and after a cursory glance around stepped inside. Harry followed closely behind, still angry but intrigued to see what Snape's house looked like. There was a small living room, in which the walls were all obscured by endless shelves of books, and some sparse furniture. Snape quickly approached one of the bookshelves, tapping it lightly with his wand and causing a large fireplace to appear. He grabbed a handful of what looked like Floo powder from a small bowl and impatiently gestured for Harry to come over. "Step in," he ordered.

"Why?" asked Harry, confused. "Isn't this your house?"

"This is the house that the Death Eaters believe I own." Snape said impatiently. "However, I like all humans, require solace at times. I own another home that only a few people know about." He inclined his head toward the fireplace. "Step in." He commanded.

Harry hesitated momentarily and then stepped into the fireplace, giving in to his curiosity. Snape stepped in after him, gripped his arm painfully, threw down the powder and enunciated, "Scotland Cottage".

After a few more moments of discomfort, Harry fell ungracefully onto a hardwood floor, hearing Snape snort behind him. He raised his head slightly, embarrassed that he had so much trouble Flooing, and was met with a surprise.

They were in a small cottage, with hardwood floors and light green walls like those in Snape's quarters at Hogwarts. Through a large window directly across from Harry there was a large, seemingly endless lake, bathed in the brilliant oranges and reds of the dying sun. Windows on the other two perpendicular walls offered a view of thick trees, indicating a forest.

Harry and Snape were currently in a small living room, which looked strangely lived in. Neutrally colored chairs and a blue couch were placed around a mahogany coffee table, which was littered with papers and a teacup. Like in the other house, stuffed bookshelves covered the walls, framing the windows. Through a slightly ajar door to the side, a small kitchen was visible.

But when Harry looked to the other side, he uttered a small gasp. A large black piano sat in the corner of the room, its keys battered and beaten as though from frequent use. Sheets of music lay atop the piano, along with another teacup.

Harry slowly got to his feet, brushing the soot off his clothes, totally bewildered and surprised by Snape's home. Who would have thought Snape would have a lakefront cottage? And that it would be…nice, almost cozy? And that he played the _piano_?

Snape had already brushed past Harry and out into the kitchen. Harry quickly followed, eager to see more of the house. The two quickly passed through the kitchen, which had basic appliances and chestnut cabinets, and more airy windows with a lake view, and ascended a winding staircase.

They came onto a landing with three doors. Snape opened the first door and impatiently gestured Harry inside. It was a spacious room, containing a large four-poster bed, small mahogany desk, and matching mahogany wardrobe. The large windows provided a view of an expansive, never-ending green forest. The walls were painted powder blue.

Harry stared at the room appreciatively and distractedly noticed Snape irritably rubbing his eyes. The man was staring at a book on a bedside table on the opposite side of the room from where he was, apparently trying and failing to read the title. Harry had known that the medication he took for his neck wounds had affected his vision, but he thought it had gone back to normal. After a few moments of impatient rubbing and squinting, Snape, scowling, took his glasses out of his robes and put them on. Suddenly illuminated by the dying rays of sunlight, Harry saw how tired and beaten Snape looked, and felt a wave of pity wash over his previous anger. Snape, after all he had done for Harry, now had to protect the boy again, this time in his own home. No wonder he resented Harry.

Snape saw Harry giving him a weird look and immediately sneered, though the effect was lessened with his glasses. "Not up to your usual standards, Potter? My deepest apologies."

"No." Harry said back, his tone void of malice or anger. "This is actually the nicest room I have ever had."

Snape, who had been turning to leave, whirled back around. "What?" he asked incredulously.

Harry looked back defiantly. "My room at home with the Dursleys had bars on it. Before that, my room was a cupboard under the stairs." He said bluntly. "I love my dorm at Hogwarts, but it was never my own. So, again, this is the nicest room I've ever had."

Snape stared at his disbelievingly. Harry sighed.

"You knew my Aunt Petunia. " he stated. Snape paused, then nodded imperceptibly. "She wasn't the kindest kid, right? You didn't get along?"

Snape pursed his lips as if deciding whether or not this conversation was worth his time. "I always found her detestable." He finally said.

"Well, she didn't grow up to be much better than she was as a kid." Harry said. "She hated magic, as you know, and passed on that sentiment to my uncle. They both consequently hated me, and treated me terribly. You know," he said thoughtfully, "I used to think you and the Dursleys would get along. You both hated me, with a passion. It's funny that you actually hate Aunt Petunia. And I can't imagine you'd be pals with Uncle Vernon, he's rather…ignorant." Harry imagined Vernon Dursley angrily insulting wizards to Snape, and Snape staring down at him in disgust. His lips twitched into a brief smile. "I don't think they would have cared if I lived or died." He admitted. "But now you know, I was far from spoiled as a child. I guess I was actually more of a victim."

Snape stared at Harry, his eyes bright as if he were trying to decipher a difficult puzzle. His expression was impassive, but held a hint of disbelief. Seeming to not know what to say, he remained silent.

"Thanks again for the room," said Harry softly, as the room became darker as the sun set. "I'm sorry if me being here is an inconvenience. I'll try to stay out of your way."

Snape did not respond, but did not make a derisive comment. In the shadows of the oncoming night, he looked darker than ever, but Harry did not find him menacing.

"Come downstairs for dinner in an hour." He said finally and swept outside the room.

Harry put his few belongings in the wardrobe and wrote brief notes to Ginny, Ron, and Hermione to update them on his current living situation. Not having an owl, he decided he'd have to ask Snape how he sent letters around here. Bored, he decided to explore the rest of the house. He carefully walked down the stairs, expecting Snape to be in the living room reading or doing something academic, but instead he was in the kitchen…cooking. He was wearing a light green sweater, the sleeves rolled up, and black trousers. He appeared to be making some sort of pie, as he was chopping vegetables and had laid out a pie crust. Strangely, he was doing nothing by magic.

His head whipped around quickly as he heard Harry's footsteps. Harry wished he had those reflexes.

"Er…would you like some help, sir?" asked Harry. He felt like it was polite, he always helped cook dinner with the Weasleys. Plus, he didn't really mind cooking, when he wasn't under pressure to cook the Dursleys' eggs with Aunt Petunia yelling at him.

Snape looked at him in disbelief, and Harry thought he would have immediately said no if he hadn't been so surprised. "What?" He said, his eyes narrowed.

"I offered to help with dinner." Said Harry. "I know how to cook."

Snape looked like he was about to deny the request, probably yelling, but then seemed to realize with a malicious smile that he could derive some pleasure from Harry struggling to cook. He inclined his head. "Fine. Chop the vegetables."

Harry grumbled and walked over to the cutting board, taking the knife and beginning to chop the carrots.

"Do it _evenly_, Potter." Snape said rudely, glaring at him.

"I am doing it evenly."

"Diagonal cuts do _not_ create even pieces." He said condescendingly. "Hold it like this." He took his own knife and demonstrated. Harry begrudgingly followed suit and found that the carrots were now identical in size and shape. It was not lost on Harry that if Snape had taught potions like that, the class would have been significantly easier and less painful.

"So, why do you enjoy cooking?" Harry asked conversationally, trying to be civil.

Snape sighed as if annoyed by Harry's presence and gave him a sideways glance as if to decide whether or not to respond. "It is therapeutic." He said simply.

"I guess it's a little like potions." Harry mused.

"Some aspects can mimic those of brewing, yes."

Harry and Snape continued cooking together, Harry rather shocked that they had just exchanged words in a somewhat civil tone. They worked, chopping and measuring and mixing, in somewhat…companionable silence, and as the outside turned black Harry was bemused to see Snape flick on dim lights, and wandlessly light few random candles. The man sure liked darkness, Harry thought, but the candles lit the room in a warm and comfortable glow. Eventually the two of them sat down and ate a salad while the shepherd's pie was cooking.

"Where did you learn to cook?" Snape asked Harry, to the boy's surprise. The question was spoken in a cold tone, but he sounded genuinely curious.

"Quite honestly, I don't remember. I always had to cook for the Dursleys, usually eggs and stuff, so it was always kind of…natural for me."

Snape pursed his lips. "You cooked for them?" he asked incredulously, seeming to believe Harry was lying.

"Yes." Said Harry, annoyed. "Usually for my cousin Dudley. I guess my aunt and uncle thought, hey, here's an able-bodied young boy, since he lives here why don't we put him to good use. Except the ironic part was that I usually couldn't eat what I cooked, it would all go to them. I would be sent up to my room with something measly and insufficient. That's why I was so short the first few years at Hogwarts, my growth had been stunted." Harry stopped, unsure why he was being so honest with Snape, of all people. "I mean, it wasn't awful. I wasn't really abused, they never hit me, it was more…neglect."

Snape's expression was unreadable. "Neglect is still abuse, Potter." He said bluntly, as though it were obvious.

Harry cocked his head in acknowledgement. "Well, I did make it out alive, if barely so. And it wasn't even the Dursleys that almost killed me in the end, though I wouldn't put it past them, it was Voldemort." Harry smiled a little, trying to somewhat appease Snape, who had assumed a very serious and grave expression, even more so than normal.

But Snape didn't smile. For some reason Harry imagined telling Ron and Hermione the same thing, knowing that Ron would have smiled too but Hermione would have assumed the same stern expression as Snape. Funny, that.

Snape stood up suddenly and took the shepherd's pie out of the oven. He cut into it carefully, oddly reminding Harry of Mrs. Weasley in the domestic role. He levitated the plate over to the table and Harry took a generous helping, biting in and feeling surprised at how good it tasted.

"This is good, sir," Harry said through a mouthful of pie.

"Potter, act above two years old and don't speak while you're chewing." Snape said disdainfully, himself taking small, measured bites.

"Sorry." Harry swallowed. "But this is almost at Mrs. Weasley's level."

"Are you surprised that I am capable of throwing vegetables and spices together and making it not taste atrocious?" He asked coldly.

Ignoring the jibe, Harry shook his head. "I'm not surprised, you're really good at potions so it makes sense you're good at this too." He looked hard at Snape. "You should have stayed for dinner and helped Mrs. Weasley cook, at Order meetings."

Snape sneered and wrinkled his nose. "I had no desire to socialize with those…people. I had more important matters to attend to at the time." He said patronizingly.

"I understand. But it wouldn't have hurt, you know, to be friendlier with those people. They would have welcomed you."

Snape shook his head imperceptibly. "They all privately thought I was deceiving Dumbledore. Their trust was limited, if not nonexistent."

Harry shook his head. "If you had opened up to them, even the slightest bit, you know they would have trusted you, or at least treated you more nicely. They are all kind-hearted people." He looked at Snape pointedly. "That includes me."

Snape sneered and scowled deeply. "I do not 'open up' to people, Potter." He said coolly.

"No kidding." Snape glared at him, but did not respond. Harry decided to press his luck. "For example, if I had known, from the beginning, about you and my mum-"

"Potter," Snape hissed, putting his hand up to silence Harry, his face becoming livid, "we are _not_ going to discuss your mother for the duration of our stay here-"

"Why not?" asked Harry angrily. "I don't understand why you never want to talk about your emotions, it would be good –"

"Shut up, Potter!" barked Snape. "You know nothing of what would be good for me and my so-called 'emotions', though your arrogance allows you-"

"I saw the memories!" exclaimed Harry. Snape's face turned whiter and angrier in the candlelight. "I know how you felt, how you feel! Do you realize that I never even knew her? All I want to do is talk –"

"Shut up,_ Potter_." Snape hissed furiously. "Like I said before, we will not be discussing your mother, nor my _feelings_, as much as you desire that I 'open up'. Go upstairs, now."

"What?"

"Do you speak English, Potter? Get out of my sight!" Snape yelled.

"Fine!" Harry yelled back, getting out of his chair quickly and carelessly levitating his dish into the sink, where it landed loudly. "If you want to continue to act like a cold-blooded prat who doesn't feel anything, that is fine by me! I am only trying to_ help_!" He pushed his chair in roughly and stormed upstairs, missing Snape staring at the dish he had levitated.

Harry sat on his bed for the next three hours, bored out of his mind. He wrote a few more letters to let people know of his whereabouts, to Luna, Neville, and Andromeda Tonks. Harry hoped Teddy was doing well and that he would be able to see him soon, but Harry couldn't imagine that Snape would let Andromeda bring the baby over. He bet he loathed babies, probably thought they were dirty or something. Harry imagined his godson, his bright hair always changing colors, and wondered if he would have Tonks's inquisitive personality, or Remus's mild, kind attitude. Thinking of the dead couple and their surviving son, Harry felt his eyes prickle.

He decided to peruse the books in his room. He was surprised to find that many of them were fictional Muggle classics, some of which were marked with a small periwinkle bookmark with the initials "A.D." Harry figured Dumbledore must have slept in this room sometimes when he and Snape were planning or plotting something, maybe even about him. The idea made him strangely sentimental.

Harry settled on a book titled _Jane Eyre _by Charlotte Bronte. He remembered that Aunt Petunia had read it for her book club and had hated it, saying it was simplistic and boring. Harry figured any book worthy of Petunia's aversion must be decent enough to read.

He settled comfortably in the bed, feeling a cool night breeze from the lake through the open windows, breathing in the fresh scent. He was nodding off until he heard, almost indistinctly, a quiet melody coming from somewhere in the house. It was low and sonorous, and had a remarkably tragic sound. Harry supposed Snape had a record player or CD player, though the first seemed more likely.

Then Harry realized, with a start, that Snape was probably playing the piano.

Harry knew he had been wrong to push Snape's buttons on their first day, but he really did want to talk about his mother, and thought it would be healthy for Snape to do so too. However, the man had been extremely rude as usual, and was not accepting Harry's efforts to be civil, or at least had only done so for a little while.

Harry sighed. He knew he should apologize, and sometimes people tended to be more forgiving in the quiet peace of the night. He quietly slipped out of bed, clad in his pajamas and bathrobe, and pattered down the winding stairs. He paused in the kitchen, where everything had been cleared and only a few candles remained burning, and listened.

It was definitely Snape playing the piano, Harry could see his shadow on the floor in the moonlight. His body remained still but his fingers moved deftly across the keys, purposefully and quickly. Harry was stunned at the man's talent; the music was flawlessly beautiful.

He quietly crept into the room, and for a moment Snape was so immersed in playing he didn't notice Harry, but then abruptly, the music ended. Snape glared at Harry and said, "Go to bed, Potter."

Harry ignored him and sat on a chair, facing Snape. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier."

Snape, seeming to not have expected that Harry would apologize, looked momentarily disarmed and did not speak. He instead brushed his hand over his face, over the glasses he was wearing, as if in exhaustion. As he shifted, a shaft of moonlight simultaneously illuminated his Dark Mark, which his fallen sleeve had exposed, and the scars on his neck. His hands went back to resting gently on the keys.

"Why did you become a Death Eater?" Harry asked quietly, unable to keep the question. He knew Snape would probably bite his head off for asking, but he was genuinely curious.

Snape looked at him, but surprisingly he didn't look angry. "That's a very personal question, Potter."

"I know."

Snape paused momentarily. "I don't know." He said flatly. His tone was filled with regret.

"Did you…did you buy into Voldemort's ideas?" Harry asked, hoping he did not set Snape off, happy that at least he was being somewhat honest. "About blood purity and stuff?"

Snape glared at him, knowing it was a reference to his mother. He paused again before answering. "I did not like Muggles." He said baldly. "My experiences with all Muggles had been very negative, so I supported Voldemort's opinion that wizards should have supremacy." He deliberately ignored Harry's question about blood purity, but continued on, his regretful tone apparent. "Like many people desiring something…greater, I wanted power and recognition. Voldemort knew how to attract his followers, he was a master manipulator. I was blindsided, like many insecure and impressionable young people." He sighed heavily and suddenly seemed years older. "I did not understand the injustice and inhumanity of his actions until many years after I was branded."

Harry nodded slowly, thrilled that Snape had finally opened up and had not hexed him for such a personal question. But another, much more personal question, came off his tongue before he could control it.

"Did you ever kill anyone? Besides Dumbledore, which doesn't count." Harry asked quietly, his heart thumping as Snape's expression turned angry. But Harry got the feeling that his fury wasn't directed at him, but someone else, or perhaps…himself.

Snape paused for minutes before answering. "Not directly, no." He finally said. Harry knew he was speaking the truth.

"So through potions and stuff?" Harry asked, feeling stupid at the childish tone and words.

"'Stuff?'" asked Snape mockingly, but his tone was devoid of malice. "There are many ways to kill someone, Potter, not only Avada Kedavra."

"Did Voldemort ever care that you didn't directly kill people?"

"Somewhat." Snape said evasively. "He was under the impression that I preferred killing people with more creative methods, as opposed to the quick and painless Killing Curse. That was not the case however; I was just too cowardly to perform the curse."

"Being unable to kill someone is not cowardly." Harry said adamantly, thinking of Draco Malfoy on the Astronomy Tower, and his pained and petrified face. "It shows you have a conscience."

Snape seemed to have no response to that and instead chose to shuffle the music around on the piano. Harry, gratified that Snape had been so open, said quietly, "You can ask me a question if you'd like. I don't care if it's really personal."

Snape huffed. "I can ask you a question whenever I wish, Potter."

"True." Harry smiled a little. "Well, ask away."

Snape rolled his eyes at the colloquial language. He paused before speaking pointedly, to Harry's surprise. "Why did you approach me, in the Shrieking Shack?"

Harry furrowed his brow. "You mean when Nagini had bitten you?"

"Yes."

"Why did I approach you?" Harry repeated, thinking back to that awful and wonderful day, the most emotionally charged day of his life. "Because you were dying."

"Why would my impending death cause you to approach me?"

Harry furrowed his brow further, unsure of what Snape was asking. "It was instinct, I guess." He looked into Snape's dark eyes, rendered totally black in the night. "I wasn't going to let you die alone."

Snape paused for a moment and a flash of emotion passed through his eyes. "Why not?" he asked, his voice quiet.

Harry stared at him. "Nobody should die alone." He said.

"Even Voldemort?" Snape pressed.

"Even if it had been Voldemort…well, no, I don't think I would approach him if he lay dying. But you can't compare yourself to him, at all." Harry thought, trying to remember his emotions in that moment. "Like I said, it was instinct. Even though I hated you, hated your guts for killing Dumbledore, I guess almost as much as I hated Voldemort for killing my parents, I knew in the back of my mind that you had saved me more than once. Maybe I knew, on some deeper level, that you were good all along, that the cards just didn't add up to characterize you as evil." He paused, his eyes softening as he looked at Snape's scars. "Maybe it was my mother speaking through me."

Snape opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. He seemed to not know how to respond again, and went back to shuffling music.

"Thanks for answering my question, sir," Harry said quietly, standing up. "Please continue playing the music. It was beautiful. Where did you learn?"

"My mother taught me." he said evenly.

"Well, she must have been good." Harry said. "Good night sir,"

Harry barely heard Snape as he walked out the door, but felt a small smile on his lips at Snape's soft reply. "Good night to you too, Potter."


	10. Small Pleasures

Severus woke the next morning at seven feeling restless, as he always did in the morning; he had always been an insomniac. At home, he played the piano when he couldn't sleep, but at Hogwarts, he often walked the halls. These traipses served a dual purpose; they allowed him to clear his head, but also catch rule-breakers like Potter.

_Potter_.

Severus had momentarily forgotten that Potter was currently staying in _his_ house and upon the realization, uttered a small groan and ran a hand tiredly over his face. Although the boy's presence had not been as _abysmally_ intolerable as usual, Severus knew sooner or later his true colors would be exposed and he would return to hating the boy with all his might.

_Not_ that he had stopped hating the boy, whatsoever.

Severus woke and bathed, thinking about Hogwarts as he stood in the scalding hot water. He didn't bathe much at Hogwarts because he was usually distracted by more important matters, but due to the large bathtub he had at the cottage, and his bathroom's view of the lake, he did so with much more frequency during the summers there. After dressing, he tended to his scars and after another annoyed sigh, put on his dratted glasses.

He trudged down the stairs, mentally slapping himself for not telling the boy an exact time to be awake for breakfast. Today he was going to set down the rules for the duration of this…stay, because in his experience, Potter, though a chronic rule-breaker, would wreak havoc _everywhere_ if not for some stringent limitations. Like the teenage boy he was, Potter was probably going to sleep until noon and then expect breakfast. Well, perhaps not. After what Severus had heard about the boy's relatives, he thought that perhaps a few of his strictly-held beliefs had been slight misconceptions…

Caught up in his musings, Severus descended the stairs and was shell-shocked to see Potter standing at the counter, clean and dressed, holding a spoon. From the smell and bowl of batter behind him, the boy seemed to be making pudding.

"Good morning, sir," said the boy…nervously? "I'm making pudding."

"I see that, Potter. I have eyes." Severus tried to think of a way to ridicule the boy. "You think me a child, that I would eat _pudding_?"

Potter frowned. "Pudding isn't exclusively for children to eat. It's just _breakfast_." He raised his eyebrows for emphasis, then turned around and continued mixing.

Severus glared at him, but though he was loath to admit it, the food smelled remarkably good, and Severus was not up to cooking. He threw a hateful glance towards Potter that he did not see, and slowly sat down at a chair, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table.

"Did you sleep well?" Potter asked. As if he were the host. Severus rolled his eyes.

"None of your business, Potter." He growled.

Potter turned around carrying two bowls of pudding, placing one before Severus.

"Well, I slept well." Potter continued conversationally. "The music from your piano actually lulled me to sleep."

Severus glared up at him, and reached for his wand to run a test on the food, to make sure it wasn't poisoned. It wasn't. Potter looked at him, aghast. "You think I put poison in the food?" he asked incredulously.

"Potter, I am not a foolish man." Severus said evenly. "I always run tests on my food when it is not made by myself or the Hogwarts house elves." He paused. "And I do find it a little…_suspicious_ that you are awake early and made breakfast without being asked." He narrowed his eyes.

Potter glared back defiantly. "It was a friendly gesture. There is no ulterior motive." He slid into his own seat across from Severus, staring out the window instead of eating his food. "You must be a pretty paranoid man to do that all the time."

"I have reason to be paranoid, Potter."

Potter seemed to not know how to respond to that. He chose to delve into his pudding, which, after a moment's hesitation, Severus did too, although with more reserve and maturity. He was unpleasantly surprised to find that it tasted very good.

"Constant vigilance," Potter said quietly, smiling stupidly to himself.

"Moody," Snape muttered in spite of himself, rolling his eyes.

Potter looked up at him and his eyes were suddenly very melancholy. "He should have survived the war. If it hadn't been for me…" Potter trailed off and put his spoon down, looking troubled.

Severus didn't respond. He admitted, he had thought Mad-Eye Moody had the best shot of anyone at surviving the war – he was one of the toughest Aurors Severus had ever met. Even though he hadn't particularly liked the man – although his dire was more directed at the man that had impersonated Moody – his death had been unexpected and shocking.

As for the part about it being Potter's fault, it wasn't. Potter hadn't suggested the idea of decoys; on Dumbledore's orders, Severus had.

"I gave the order to Fletcher to suggest decoys." Severus said flatly.

Potter looked at him again and there was surprise and…what was that gratitude?...on his face. "I could have said no. Flat-out refused."

"You could have," Severus responded indifferently, "but they likely wouldn't have listened. Moody was likely to die that night either way."

Potter was watching him with a grateful expression, and Severus felt himself wince. He had not intended for the boy to draw any comfort from his words, he had merely been saying the truth – or perhaps, the version of truth that he had been telling himself.

"I suppose you're right." Potter conceded, watching him carefully.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence, watching the sun fully come up into the sky and cause the water to sparkle. While he was teaching and studying, Severus loved the darkness, but in his own home, he favored the light much more. Severus wondered if that confused Potter.

Potter stood up suddenly and, bringing both dishes to the sink, quickly washed, dried, and placed them back in the cabinet. Severus did not thank him but instead motioned with his head for Potter to sit down.

"Potter. It is time to set some rules." Severus leaned back and crossed his arms, trying to look intimidating. Potter did not look cowed, and Severus huffed internally. "I do not know how long you will be here – hopefully you are out as soon as possible – but for the foreseeable future, you are in danger and thus must stay here. I need not impress upon you how unfavorable it would be to encounter Rudolphus Lestrange." He paused. "Thus, you cannot leave this house, unless you have my permission, which will be given rarely. Since you will have copious amounts of downtime, I suggest you catch up on the work you missed this past year." Potter made a face and Severus rolled his eyes. "I do not know your ambitions or plans, Potter, but I think that even the Chosen One ought to have a sufficient education. Seventh-year material is the most important for any career." Potter opened his mouth to speak but Severus raised a hand to silence him. "Breakfast, lunch, and dinner will be served every day at eight, noon, and six. If…if you wish to make a meal, I will not stop you," Potter widened his eyes and gave a minute smile, "but if not, it will always be here."

Potter opened his mouth again but closed it. He was watching Severus with the strangest expression on his face.

"I am going to go work on potions." Severus stood up. "I will owl to get some textbooks from Hogwarts. In the meantime, I am sure you can find something to amuse yourself. But do not touch anything that is not yours, besides those books in yo- in the room you're staying in." Severus swept out of the room, unaware that Harry was still watching him with that strange expression.

Severus spent his morning working on a pain reliever he was developing, to rid himself of the after-effects of the Cruciatus, after-effects that still gave him extreme arthritis-like pain. It was calming to be back in his own basement, therapeutically brewing something that would actually do good, instead of something that would maim and kill like all of the potions he'd made for Voldemort.

He made his way to the kitchen at quarter to noon, and was surprised to see Potter sitting at the table holding a book and eating a sandwich. Another plate containing a sandwich and chips was placed where Severus had sat that morning.

Staring confusedly at the boy, Severus sat down and picked up the sandwich gingerly, wanting to be cautious but not wanting to offend the boy again by using the testing spell.

Wait, when did he _care_ about offending the boy?

"Have you ever read _Jane Eyre_?" Potter asked as Severus bit into the sandwich and found it to be, unsurprisingly, very good. He nodded in response.

"I read it before I went to Hogwarts. When I was ten."

"Ten?" Potter asked. "It's huge!"

Severus stared impassively, sneering. "I was a gifted reader, Potter."

"I guess that makes sense. You're kind of a genius." Potter muttered. Severus felt taken aback at the compliment, but did not respond.

"Did you like it?" Potter asked.

Severus paused. _Jane Eyre_ happened to be one of his favorite books, if only because it did not follow the stereotypical happy ending, and its characters were flawed and human. But he did not want to share something so…personal with Potter. He nodded.

"I like it too. Jane is endearing and it has an interesting plotline." He paused. "Mr. Rochester is cool, too. He kind of reminds me of you."

Potter looked at him carefully as though expecting him to explode. But Severus merely nodded. He was quite familiar with the book and could see similarities between him and the character.

"Yeah," Potter continued contemplatively, "you're both kind of…enigmatic. Like you have some good and bad qualities." He pursed his lips and looked unbearably foolish. "You're both…_mysterious_." Potter wiggled his eyebrows.

Severus could not help himself. A small snort escaped from his lips, but it was not malicious or derisive. Potter had merely looked so…amusing when he said that.

Not amusing, Severus told himelf. Foolish, idiotic, and juvenile.

"You just laughed at my joke." Potter said, his eyes wide.

"I did not_ laugh_, Potter," Severus said scathingly, composing himself. "I was merely scoffing at your idiotic expression and childish tone of voice."

"No, you laughed." Potter disagreed. Severus scowled and they continued to eat in silence. Once again, Potter cleared the dishes when they were both done. Severus, admittedly, was completely surprised at the boy's manners and sat rather awe-struck, though with his usual impassive mask on.

Potter turned around and suddenly looked apprehensive. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You can, but I might choose not to answer."

"Right." He looked outside. "Well, I know you said I couldn't go outside, but it's a really nice day outside and…erm…can I go swimming in the lake?"

Severus narrowed his eyes. He had seen Potter in the Triwizard Tournament, the boy was not the most adept swimmer. Plus, if Potter swam that meant _he_ would have to go outside with him, and that would likely be a nightmare. Plus, couldn't the boy amuse himself reading?

But on the other hand, Potter hadn't been able to have much enjoyment for the past year, and had admittedly been an ideal houseguest since he had come to Severus's house. He supposed the boy deserved to spend some time outside.

Before he could ruminate further, Severus stared pointedly at Potter and mumbled, "Fine." Potter's face became delighted, but Severus held up a hand. "You're only going to be able to swim out so far, and I'll have to go with you." Severus made a face at the last part, but Potter looked even more delighted.

"Great!" he exclaimed. "I'll go put on my swimming clothes and I'll be back in five minutes."

Severus sighed and went into his own room to put on a bathing suit. Truth be told, he enjoyed swimming in the lake himself during the summers; it was good exercise and often helped him clear his brain. Plus, he was always looking for new ways to challenge himself, and often tested how long he could tread water without stopping or how far he could swim underwater without breathing.

When he went back to the kitchen, Potter was already there, holding a towel and looking rather thin and undernourished in his swim clothes. Severus made a mental note to make sure that Potter was eating sufficiently; it wouldn't reflect very well on Severus if the already-thin boy was_ losing_ weight under his care.

Severus, grumbling, led the way out the back door and into the sand before the lake. He breathed in the scent of fresh, clean lake air deeply, gently placing his towel down on the sand, taking off his shirt, and crossing him arms as he looked at Potter, who had done the same.

But Potter was staring at Severus's upper body with confusion and…concern. "What happened to you?"

"What?"

"There are…scars, and cuts all over your body. Not from the snake." He clarified.

Severus looked away uncomfortably. He had forgotten, in his haste to get this swimming session over as fast as possible, that Potter would see the scars and tears on his body from abuse at the hands of his father and Voldemort. He quickly transfigured his towel into a swimming shirt and put it on.

"Were you in an accident?" Potter asked quietly.

"I was in several. And they were not all accidents." Severus said evasively.

Potter looked at him, and those damn green eyes widened in unmistakable pity. "Was it Voldemort? The Cruciatus?"

Severus nodded before he thought better.

"Is that why you move like you have joint pain? The same thing happened to Hermione. And it was only used on her once."

Severus looked up, surprised that Potter had noticed something so small. He nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry that happened to you." Potter said sincerely.

"I don't need pity, Potter," Severus responded tersely, but all the same, cocked his head in acknowledgement. "Now, let's go in the water. That was the purpose of this outdoor escapade, was it not?"

Quickly shifting gears, Potter deftly ran forward and waded into the gradually deepening water, splashing childishly and delightedly. Severus entered swiftly behind him, wading into the water until he couldn't stand, patiently treading water and feeling the warm sun above him.

He suddenly felt something tightly grab his ankle and pull him under the surface, but before he could do a nonverbal, wandless spell, he had been released and saw Potter's face grinning stupidly at him. "Gotcha," the insolent boy said.

"Don't do that again, Potter." Said Severus dangerously. Suddenly, Potter felt himself consumed by massive waves as Severus uttered a wandless spell that mimicked a small tsunami around Potter. Potter came up spluttering as Severus finally cancelled the spell, smiling maliciously.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a similarly playful manner, with Severus using wandless and nonverbal spells to nearly drown Potter, only to save him at the last minute. Instead of annoying the boy, as was the intention, Potter only seemed to grow more excited with each near-death experience. He continued to splash and spook Severus, who eventually grew less and less annoyed, strangely taking a small bit of pleasure from seeing the genuine happiness on Potter's face.

Merlin, where had that come from?

As the sun slid down the sky, and the day came to a close, Severus finally made to get out of the water and motioned for Potter to do the same. The two men emerged from the lake, sopping wet, and swiftly toweled themselves dry on the sand.

"Did you have fun?" asked Potter, putting on his glasses.

"_Fun_?" Severus mocked derisively. But seeing the slightly hurt expression on the boy's face, he softened his tone. "It was not as abysmal as I expected. Although you need to become much stealthier in your attacks on me."

Potter's face split into a wide grin. "That's practically a compliment, coming from you."

"It's not. And don't let it inflate your already enormous ego." Severus sniffed. "Come, wash up and I will make dinner."

The two men reentered the house, bathed and dressed in their respective rooms, and reconvened in the kitchen. Severus was pleased to see that Potter had gotten some sun and looked healthier and happier than he had seen him in a while.

Not pleased. Satisfied.

Potter was staring at Severus with something akin to wonder. "You don't look so…pale."

"What?"

"You got some sun today." Potter explained. "You aren't as pale as usual. You look healthier."

Severus frowned at him and opened the fridge, pulling out meat and vegetables for dinner, but Potter cleared his throat behind him.

"Let me do that." He said. "You were nice enough to let me go in the lake, I want to make dinner. But, erm, if you wouldn't mind, I was thinking I could make blackberry pie for dessert. I saw some blackberry bushes outside if you wouldn't mind, erm…picking some from them." He looked at Severus apprehensively.

Severus stared back. He did not like that the Potter boy seemed to be giving him an order, but on the other hand, he _was_ cooking the third meal of the day. And his telling Severus to pick blackberries was more of a polite request than order, Severus's sensible side pointed out.

"Very well." Severus said smoothly, transfiguring a plate into a basket. "I will return in ten minutes."

Potter looked momentarily surprised before nodding, giving him a small smile, and turning around to chop vegetables. Severus went outside through the back door, glorifying in the gentle breeze of a warm summer night. He turned left towards the thick forest behind him, walking slowly with his wand alit until he found the blackberry bushes.

He picked the blackberries quietly, strangely thinking of when he had done this with Dumbledore a few years ago. Ever a sweets lover, upon seeing the bushes, Dumbledore had suggested they make a pie to distract themselves from Severus's latest painful encounter with Voldemort. He had come to the thicket with Dumbledore, gingerly moving as his back was laced with painful lashes, holding a basket as Dumbledore picked the berries and hummed cheerfully. Although the scene had seemed so annoying and pointless at the time, upon rumination, Severus realized that Dumbledore's actions had been a paternal way of taking care of him. Now, Severus realized with a start, Potter was doing a bit of a similar thing.

Suddenly, Severus heard a loud hiss and turned around to see an enormous snake, its green eyes large and its lengthy tongue sticking out dangerously. It slithered towards Severus, who knelt rooted to the spot, paralyzed with fear, unable to stop thinking of Nagini and his near-death experience. His wand lay forgotten and useless in his pocket, and as the snake came closer, these were surely the last moments of Severus's life, and he had been saved only to die again…

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" someone screamed, and the snake fell paralyzed to the ground, unmoving. Severus stared at the beast, his heart thumping wildly, and felt a strong hand on his shoulder. He did not shake it off.

"Are you okay, sir?" asked Potter concernedly, kneeling down beside Severus.

Severus took a moment to compose himself and slowly pulled himself from Potter's grasp. "I am fine." He said loudly, pulling himself up.

Potter stood up as well, picking up the forgotten basket of blackberries from the ground. "Let's go back inside. The food is ready."

Severus stared at him. The boy was not going to make a derisive comment about how he had become immobilized, was not going to mock him for being so cowardly? Severus felt himself speak before he could think. "Thank you." He muttered softly. He looked up to see Potter staring back at him with a small smile.

"You're quite welcome, Snape," he responded softly.


	11. Pictures

Harry and Snape walked quickly back up the stairs before Snape turned back suddenly and walked towards the Petrified snake. He mumbled a spell quietly and the snake disappeared from the spot with a whiff of smoke.

"What did you just do?" asked Harry, aghast.

"I did not kill it." Said Snape, annoyed. "I banished it to another forest."

"Okay," Harry muttered as they walked through the door and into the warm kitchen. He did not know why, but the thought of Snape killing the snake distressed him.

"I made stir-fry," He said unnecessarily as he put down the blackberry basket on the table and passed a plate of dinner to Snape. The man looked down his hooked nose at the food and said nothing, but did cautiously begin eating, without doing that stupid diagnostic spell.

"You're sure you're okay, sir?" asked Harry.

Snape glared at him. "I am fine, Potter."

Harry frowned. "Don't think that I thought you were…weak, or that I pitied you or anything. It's completely understandable after your ordeal with Nagini…" He rather smiled at the thought of Snape cowering from something in fear. "The idea of thinking you weak is laughable. You're the bravest man I know."

Snape opened his mouth to say something but then closed it. Seeming unsure what to say, he dove into the stir-fry with ferocity. Harry finished his and started to make the blackberry pie, smiling a little at the thought of himself in Snape's house, cooking a pie. The idea would have seemed so ludicrous a year ago, but now it was reality.

Thankfully, he had located Snape's owl earlier and was able to send letters to Hermione, Ron, and Ginny to them know of his whereabouts. Strangely, though he missed his friends deeply, he was not despising the time apart as much as he thought he would. He wondered what they would think of the arrangement, if they would be scared of Rudolphus Lestrange. He noticed that Snape didn't get the Daily Prophet, which he personally thought was a wise decision, but he did wonder if he was on the cover among speculation over where he was. He wondered if people would think it strange he was staying with Snape.

Snape distracted Harry from his thoughts by bringing his empty plate to the sink and washing it quietly. With his sleeves rolled up, his Dark Mark shone oddly against his pale skin.

"Do you think that will fade?" asked Harry, gesturing at Snape's forearm.

Snape glanced up and swiftly recovered the tattoo, glaring distastefully at Harry. "I hoped so." He said bitterly.

"How did you get it?" asked Harry curiously.

"A spell." Snape said vaguely.

"Yeah, obviously I know it was a spell," Harry said, irritated, "Was it Dark Magic? Did it hu-"

"Shut up, Potter." Snape said loudly, his tone angry. "I do not have to answer these foolish personal questions."

"You did yesterday!" said Harry angrily.

"Yes, in a severe lapse in judgment-"

"No!" Harry exclaimed. "It was good for you to say that stuff, you clearly haven't talked about it and I think it would help-"

"Stop assuming the role of a psychologist, Potter!" Snape hissed. "I should not have spoken to you yesterday, those were personal topics –"

"No, it was good! I appreciated it, I thought you were finally opening up and I want to continue that-"

"Why, Potter?" asked Snape sarcastically. "Why do you want me to "continue" to "open up"?"

"Because I want you to be happy!" shouted Harry, his arms crossed fiercely. "I don't know why you're so determined to make your life miserable, what you did was nearly eighteen years ago and it's just so stupid-"

Snape's face flared with real anger. "Do not call me stupid, Potter." He said dangerously.

"I'm not calling you stupid," said Harry, exasperated, "I'm calling your actions stupid!"

"SHUT UP, Potter!" Snape bellowed.

"FINE!" Harry yelled back, slamming his fist on the counter. "You make it so effing difficult to help you! I thought we were making progress, but evidently not. Here is your bloody pie." Harry snatched the pie from the oven, setting it down aggressively on the counter and, spinning around, strutted upstairs.

He was trying to help Snape. He really was. And he had thought, between the talk last night and swimming and even Snape's gratitude with the whole snake encounter, things were progressing. He was at least seeing a side of Snape that was human and relatable, not so unflappable and unemotional at all times. But apparently not. Harry sighed. Scanning the sky for Snape's owl with replies from his friends, he saw nothing but stars against a black backdrop. He sighed again.

He sat down on the bed and tried to abate his anger by reading _Jane Eyre_. But even the young woman and her adventures with her strangely-named cousin couldn't keep him awake tonight. He drifted slowly off into a restless sleep.

He was kneeling next to them, sobbing as he looked despairingly at their lifeless faces. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny lay motionless on the grass in the graveyard, a white-faced, snake-like creature poised above them, cackling madly and wielding his wand like a sword.

"You could not save them, Harry Potter!" Voldemort exclaimed gleefully, his red eyes alight with malice and joy. "You could not save anyone, and now you cannot even save yourself!" He raised his wand and suddenly Harry saw more images of dead bodies; his father, splayed out in the hallway; his mother, her red hair contrasting with the blue rug of the nursery; Sirius, the ghost of a smile on his dead face-

"Potter!" Harry heard an annoyed voice yelling. Was it Hermione? He remembered she had always comforted him after nightmares when they had been on the run. But that voice sounded much deeper.

"Potter, snap out of it." The voice was speaking again but Harry knew he was screaming, the images of corpses still fresh in his mind. He felt a strong hand roughly grasp his forearm; it definitely wasn't Hermione. Maybe Ron? But there was something different about that voice…

After a few more agonizing moments Harry allowed the coaxing voice to break him from his nightmare. Opening his eyes infinitesimally, to his surprise, he saw Snape standing next to the bed, wearing green pajama bottoms and a black long-sleeved shirt. He looked annoyed, but when Harry opened his eyes, relief was evident on his face.

Harry scooted backwards in bed, breaking free of Snape's grasp. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"You had a nightmare." Snape stated. Harry nodded, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry I woke you up."

Snape shook his head minutely. "Nightmares are not a crime."

Harry avoided Snape's gaze. He had been so infuriated with the man earlier, but now he was standing before him, wearing his pajamas, and though he had probably been rudely woken up, he did not look angry or annoyed. And, he had just helped Harry when he could have left him to wake up himself.

"Did you put up a Silencing Charm last night?"

Harry paused. "I actually slept okay last night," he admitted. "Your, erm, piano playing…I think it relaxed me. But yeah, at Hogwarts I have been. I don't want to wake anyone up."

Snape suddenly looked very tired and ran a hand over his face. He was wearing his glasses, but they were rather crooked, as though he had put them on in a hurry. The idea made Harry feel strangely warm.

Harry settled back in the pillows. His sheets were drenched in sweat; he felt clammy and slightly nauseated. He closed his eyes.

"You look pale." Snape stated. His expression was indecipherable, but betrayed a hint of concern. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it. His hand came up slowly from his side and Harry stared at it, confused. Snape hesitated momentarily and then pressed his hand to Harry's forehead, checking for a fever.

Harry closed his eyes at the touch. Snape's hand was softer than he had expected, and warmer. He had always expected the man to be ice-cold, but strangely, he radiated heat.

The motion was no big deal, Harry was sure Snape had done it whenever he helped out in the Infirmary like Madame Pomfrey had said, but still. It was something a parent would do for a child, and was almost comforting. Harry had never had never been properly taken care of, unless you counted Hermione, but she was only Harry's age.

Snape pulled his hand away. "I do not believe you have a fever. You are just shaken from the dream." He paused and stepped back, bending down to pick up the fallen _Jane Eyre_, and placed it on the bedside table. "Come downstairs." He ordered, sweeping out of the room without so much as a backwards glance.

Harry sighed. It seemed like Snape was in a better mood, but this little midnight discussion would probably end in Harry being punished for yelling at Snape earlier. He pulled on his bathrobe trudged downstairs, wearing his slippers.

He entered the kitchen, but Snape was not there. He was surprised to see the blackberry pie, still whole, sitting on a glass platter. Harry wondered if Snape no longer trusted his cooking.

He was surprised to see, through the door, Snape sitting at the couch holding a steaming mug of tea in front of him, staring out at the black, moonlit lake. Another mug was placed on the table.

Harry grabbed the other mug and gratefully drank, settling into the chair next the couch.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier." Harry said, breaking the silence. "I shouldn't have pried into your life, it's not my business, and it won't happen again." He looked up wearily, hoping Snape would accept his apology, trying to maintain the fragile truce they had built.

But Snape was looking at him strangely. "Why is it that all you ever do is apologize, Potter?" But his tone was not malicious or sarcastic. He seemed genuinely curious.

Harry frowned. "I'm not sure. It's a reflex."

Snape seemed satisfied with that and took a long sip of his tea. Harry expected him to next discuss his punishment and tensed, bracing himself.

But what Snape said next shocked him. "What happened in your nightmare?"

Harry paused briefly, considering if he should be honest. It had been very personal, but then again, Snape had shared some private information with him the previous night. "I saw all my friends dead. Voldemort killed them, because I failed to save them."

"Who?"

"Ron, Hermione, Ginny. And then…then I saw all the people that had actually died. Sirius…my parents. In my house." A brief hint of pain flickered through Snape's expression, but it was barely noticeable.

"Where were you?"

"The graveyard." Harry said. "The one where he came back, that night in the Triwizard Tournament. You…you went there that night, right?" Snape turned his head slightly to look at Harry. "Sorry," Harry muttered, "you don't have to answer that. It's personal."

"I have been to the graveyard, Potter." Snape clarified.

"You weren't there, though, when he was torturing me?"

Snape shook his head. "I was at the tournament, Potter. I could not so easily have told the staff, students and families that I had to go as Lord Voldemort had returned and was summoning me with a Dark tattoo on my arm."

"But later," Harry said, remembering, "Dumbledore asked if you were prepared, and you said you were. I remember that clearly."

"Interesting, the things your brain chooses to remember." Said Snape speculatively, but without malice or derision. His tone was almost teasing. Harry snorted.

"Anyway…it was at the graveyard, and they were all just lying there, dead." Harry said, sobering. "It was the worst feeling in the world, knowing I hadn't been able to save them."

Snape looked back at the lake and Harry suddenly realized what he had just said. He internally smacked his palm on his forehead. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean-"

"Stop apologizing, Potter." Snape said quietly. "I asked you about your dream. Please disregard any implications it could have on my own feelings."

"It was the worst feeling I have ever felt." Harry said. "That's why…that's why I was screaming. The pain was unbearable."

"Worse than the Cruciatus." Snape muttered in spite of himself, clenching his fists.

Harry felt his heart melt a little for Snape. "Can I say something, sir?"

"Well, I cannot stop you."

"No, can I say it without you getting mad."

"Spit it out."

Harry took a deep breath. "My mother would have forgiven you, there is no doubt in my mind. She would have forgiven you for giving the prophecy to Voldemort, for becoming a Death Eater – all of it. Because look at what you have done, you have more than made up for it." He looked at Snape hard, who did not break eye contact. The black orbs looked profoundly sad. "I don't know what happens after you die. I don't know why, but I have a feeling people stick around. At least, I hope they do. And I think that one day you'll see my mum again, and she'll tell you all this herself. And hopefully…hopefully then you'll stop being in so much pain." Harry paused. "And hopefully I'll see her too." He added as an afterthought.

Snape just stared at him with those profoundly sad eyes. Harry did not think he had ever seen so much emotion in a pair of eyes before. He took a sip of his tea, which immediately warmed his chilled body and cleared his head.

"Would you like to see pictures?"

Harry looked up in shock at Snape. Had he heard correctly? "Pictures…pictures of my mum?"

Snape nodded. "I only have a few, but –"

"I would love to." Harry said immediately. Snape nodded, hesitantly got up, and went over towards one of the bookshelves. He took out a small box at the bottom of it, pulling out a dark blue album. He went back to the couch, motioning for Harry to sit next to him.

"She made this for me when we were fourteen." He said, fingering the cover delicately. It had a picture of a much younger and happier Snape, wearing his Hogwarts robes, and a younger Lily, her bright red hair shining in the sunlight. Snape was imitating someone, his eyebrows shooting up theatrically, and Lily was hysterically laughing. They appeared to be sitting on one of the low walls in the Hogwarts courtyard. Harry took the book gently in his hands and traced the embossed cover gently. _For Sev_, it read in gold lettering. _Love, Lily_.

He flipped through the book slowly, savoring each picture, acutely aware of Snape doing the same thing beside him. Most pictures were of Snape and Lily together, but some were solo shots that the other had taken. He laughed aloud when he saw one of Snape standing next to a perfectly formed snowman wearing a black scarf, black hat, and with black buttons in its middle. His heart hurt when he saw one of his mother in the library, studying intensely and looking strangely like Hermione. His eyes pricked with tears every time he saw one of Snape and Lily together laughing – his mother had looked so beautiful when she laughed, and Snape's face came alight, making him look like a different person. Nobody looking at these photos would ever know the tragic lives both children would end up leading, the vicious secrets and struggles that would tear them apart.

After what seemed like a great while, Harry closed the book gently, stealing a glance at Snape, whose eyes appeared a little glassy. Harry's own eyes were brimming with unshed tears. "Thank you." He said sincerely. "That was…very special. I loved the pictures. Thank you for sharing it with me."

Snape nodded and glanced out the window again.

"I know we can't do it tonight, but…could we talk about her some time? If you can?"

Snape hesitated and then nodded minutely, biting his lip ever so slightly. Harry stole another glance at the book's cover.

"You know the Mirror of Erised?" Harry asked.

Snape looked at him curiously. "Yes."

"I saw her in it. With…my dad." Harry cleared his throat. "When I was eleven. Dumbledore told me how unusual it was that I would see such a thing…not riches, or glory, or any of that. Just love."

Snape did not respond, but stared out the window.

"I wasn't saying that so you'd tell me what you saw in the mirror." Harry clarified. "That's just the first time I ever saw her. It was weird, because you know, it was so real."

Snape was quiet for the longest time yet. He drained his tea and stared at Harry with those profoundly sad eyes. "I saw her too," He said softly.

Harry felt his heart melt a little again. He did not know how to respond, so grabbed Snape's hand momentarily and squeezed. Snape did not squeeze back, but also did not yank it away. Harry smiled a little and said, "Although the thought probably makes you cringe, we are more alike than I realized."

To Harry's surprise, Snape's lips lifted into a small smile. "That thought does horrify me. But perhaps not as much as it once would have."

Harry's eyes brightened. "I'm gratified to hear that you no longer harbor you gut-wrenching hatred of me. I imagine that was a little tiring." He smiled a little.

Snape was staring at him again. Perhaps at night the man's brain moved a little slower than usual, he thought.

"She would have been proud of you." Snape stated. "You are very much like her."

Warmth spread through Harry's body like wildfire. He opened his mouth to speak but found he could not. His eyes brimmed with tears, of both sadness and happiness, until he could not contain them and he gave a little sob. He tried to smile, to show Snape that these were not all tears of grief. "Thank you." He said softly.

This time when he reached for Snape's hand and squeezed, Snape squeezed back.


	12. Death

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews everyone! Also, sorry about the pancakes thing in chapter 10, I changed it to pudding to make it more realistic. I am American, and I realized belatedly that pancakes had never been mentioned in the books. I hope this suffices! Also, some of the information for this chapter on Patronuses I got from Pottermore, just an FYI. I hope you like this chapter, and please keep reviewing! Okay, enjoy!**

Severus squeezed Potter's hand tightly, surprising himself with the motion. What had come over him? But before he could pull his hand away, his thumb brushed over something jagged and raised on the back of Potter's hand. Bewildered, he let go of Potter's hand and instead grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand closer to his face for inspection under the moonlight.

"I must not tell lies." He stated. "Product of a blood quill."

Potter looked away uncomfortably. "Umbridge," he muttered.

"Dolores Umbridge?" Severus asked, his voice scathing. "Lines during detentions?" he asked, guessing. Potter nodded.

Severus let go of Potter's wrist and stood up suddenly, levitating the scrapbook back into the box on the bookshelf. He crossed his arms and looked squarely at Potter.

"You never told anyone." He said. Potter shook his head.

"I told Ron and Hermione," he said nervously, "but I didn't want to tell anyone of authority. If it ever got back to her, it'd show her I was weak, that I couldn't handle it. I handled it just fine."

Severus crossed his arms tighter. "Blood quills are illegal, Potter. They're very Dark magic."

"Yeah, I didn't think they were exactly encouraged for use in detentions." Huffed Potter, annoyed. "It was painful, but Hermione made Murtlap of Essence, which healed them considerably. And…they didn't kill me, right? So it's fine."

Severus held his arms even tighter, and then suddenly feeling exhausted, sat back down on the couch. "That toad is wretched." He said angrily. "Using blood quills on students…however, what was the lie you were accused of telling?"

Potter raised his eyebrows to signify surprise at Severus's use of "however", as if he had actually been untruthful, the blood quill would have been justified.

"I am not indicating that she was in the right." Said Severus. "Far from it. I am just curious what provoked her."

"I said in class that Voldemort had come back." Potter said tiredly, seeming to remember the incident with exasperation.

"I see." Severus cracked his knuckles, his hands white. "Well, it's no surprise that the woman was a blithering idiot. Dumbledore made me show her my Dark Mark repeatedly, but to no avail. She refused to believe what was right before, as only true fools do." His tone was edged with bitterness, remembering the memory with resentment.

Potter nodded and then bit his lip, tracing his own thumb over the scar.

"How many times did you write with it?" Severus asked.

Potter paused before answering, as though deciding whether or not to be truthful. "More than I can count." He responded honestly.

Severus felt vague surprise, and then a surge of anger for the bitch of a woman. He had always hated her, known she was capable of Dark magic, but using it on children…he stood up again. "She got what she deserved." He said angrily. "Let her rot in Azkaban." Potter nodded vigorously, and then yawned.

Severus felt a strange sensation wash over him as he saw Potter yawning, his eyes scrunching against his glasses. Although nearly eighteen, although all he had done and seen, he looked so vulnerable and childlike then. Severus realized that his face was not prematurely lined, as his own was, but instead unwrinkled and youthful. "You should –" Severus stopped, realizing his voice sounded much too soft and gentle, "go to bed." he finished more loudly and impassively.

Potter nodded again and stood up. "Thanks for the pictures. They were…great." Suddenly he looked sheepish, and Severus raised his eyebrows in question. "I know it's really late and you're probably tired…never mind. I don't want to inconvenience you."

"Just say it, Potter."

Potter pursed his lips. "Would you mind playing the piano for a few minutes?" He wrung his hands together. "I think the music was why I didn't have any nightmares last night. It was incredibly relaxing…just for ten minutes or something. If you're too tired it's fine."

Severus nodded, moving towards the piano. As he shuffled the music around, he looked up to Potter's grateful face and said pointedly, "And don't put up a Silencing charm."

Potter nodded, a strange expression on his face. "I won't." He turned to leave. "Thanks, sir. I'll see you tomorrow." He padded out of the room and upstairs.

Severus forwent a farewell and began playing. He could barely see the notes in the darkness, but he had memorized the song long ago; it was his favorite of Mozart's. His fingers danced lightly over the keys, and he closed his eyes in memory of learning the song with his mother. Unbeknownst to him, upstairs Potter had fallen asleep almost immediately, his ears filled with the dulcet melody.

The next few weeks passed rather uneventfully for both Severus and Potter. The Aurors returned to say that the entire department was on the lookout for Lestrange, and they had a few leads, but no solid evidence yet. The wizarding world had been alerted to the situation, as Kingsley Shacklebolt had announced it, but people were not overly concerned. Their joy and relief over Voldemort's death could not be overshadowed by something so minor; the public did not believe Lestrange a threat, especially now that the Ministry had been reformed and revamped, as had the Auror department. People were concerned over Potter's safety, but most believed Severus a suitable protector until he was in the clear. There had been a great debate about it in the _Daily Prophet_, which Minerva had showed them disdainfully when she came to visit.

The other two parts of the Golden Trio, plus the Weasley girl, had also come to visit, after Severus had acquiesced, to Potter's apparent surprise. Severus had disappeared downstairs to work on his potion all day as he heard laughter and chatter from above him. Potter had made the mistake of telling the Granger girl about the potion he was developing, the one that counter-acted the effects of the Cruciatus, so she had come down to Severus's lab in a great rush of bushy hair asking if she could help. Severus had actually allowed her for a moment, only because he knew (grudgingly) that she was very intelligent and could help him with a slight obstacle he had run into. After an hour or so of debate, they had jointly found a solution, and Severus found himself actually appreciating her help. When the three had left that day, Severus actually smiled at her, and, at Potter's expectant glance, did a sort of odd head shake that was an attempt at a nod, to the two Weasleys.

With each passing day and week, Severus (grudgingly) found that more of his strictly-held beliefs about Potter had been egregious misconceptions. The boy was surprisingly helpful around the house, making meals as often as Severus did, and offering to clean whenever he had time. He was tolerably adept when Severus was tutoring him – which he did nearly every day – in almost all subjects. He was especially talented at Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the two even dueled a few times, at which Potter was surprisingly skilful. Not even a third as skilful as Severus, which Potter had admitted, but still well advanced for his age.

Severus had also found himself, to his great annoyance and surprise, actually enjoying recreational activities with the boy. They swam quite frequently, which Potter said helped him sleep easier at night, avoiding nightmares. Severus privately shared this sentiment, though he would never tell that to Potter – he secretly put up Silencing charms around his bed, as he had for the past seventeen years, every night.

He also enjoyed cooking with the boy, not finding him to be as much a hindrance as he originally expected, and playing chess with him. Naturally, Severus beat him every time, but Potter seemed to get great enjoyment out of playing at all, and for the strangest reason, that gave Severus a bit of pleasure himself.

And that was the problem. Severus had been attached before, and would not allow himself to be again.

Now they were sitting at breakfast, eating eggs Potter had made, and they were discussing that day's lesson plan.

"You can produce a full-fledged Patronus?" asked Severus, surprised at Potter's previous comment.

"Yes." Potter said proudly. "I've been able to since the end of my third year."

Severus raised his eyebrows, shocked. "That is very advanced. Who taught you?"

"Remus. That was the year with all the Dementors, remember?"

"Oh, I remember." Said Severus darkly. That had been one of his worst years teaching at Hogwarts; already slightly depressed and miserable with life, the Dementors had only augmented his pain. He had barely slept that whole year, his nightmares had been so dreadful.

He brought himself back to the present, as Potter was looking rather concernedly at him.

"I had heard rumors you could do so," Severus commented, "but I admit, I was a bit incredulous."

"Well," said Potter easily, "I can show you later." He looked curiously at Snape. "When did you learn to produce one? I don't think they teach them at Hogwarts."

"I taught myself." Said Severus shortly. "When I was fourteen. It seemed, to me, useful as a method of communication, and a prudent weapon should I ever face a Dementor. I did not favor the idea of having my soul sucked out of me." He looked at his hands. "I did not, of course, use it until I defected from Voldemort. There was no use, and I did not want to arouse suspicion among the Death Eaters; none of them could produce one."

"You were the only Death Eater who could produce a Patronus?" asked Potter, shocked.

Severus nodded. "None had a need to, really. They could produce its effects using other methods. Also, it is rumored that if a Dark wizard tries to produce a Patronus, he or she will be devoured by maggots." He frowned distastefully. "So, yes, I was the only one."

"Wow." Potter breathed. "Was…was your Patronus always a doe? Since you learned the charm?"

Severus looked out at the lake. "Yes."

"It's funny, you know," Potter said, breaking Severus out of his reverie, "when you conjured that Patronus, in the Forest of Dean, and I saw it, I immediately felt safe. I s'pose I thought, when I first found out it was yours, that I felt safe because it was like my mum, but now I realize it was because you had always been protecting me." Potter looked up thoughtfully. "Were you there, that night?"

"Yes." Said Severus, rolling his eyes. "The night you dove into that frozen pool of water, I remember."

Potter smiled lightly at the memory. "That wasn't one of my brightest ideas, I know. But thankfully, Ron was there."

"Yes, thankfully," Severus muttered.

"Did you stay until I got the sword out? Ron said he thought he heard a noise in the trees." Potter asked. Severus stared pointedly at him.

"Of course I did, Potter. I was not going to let my efforts go to waste."

"Would you have saved me if Ron hadn't come?" asked Potter, suddenly intense.

Severus paused for a moment. "I wouldn't have had a choice. I would have had to drag you out of there." he said, wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant thought.

"That would have freaked me out." Harry said seriously. "I still hated you then."

"I realize that. It would have complicated matters immensely, as I would have had to explain to you why I saved your life, and why I had given you the sword. Thus, I was immensely thankful when Weasley arrived, albeit appearing lost and confused, as usual."

Potter ignored the jibe at his friend and stared at Severus thoughtfully. "You know, it wouldn't have been so bad if I had known. I know why you wanted to keep me in the dark. But I bet this whole thing" he gestured widely with his arms "the entire war, everything, would have been easier if we weren't enemies. If I had known the truth, I wouldn't have treated you the same, even if you were as nasty to me as usual."

Severus ruminated thoughtfully. He had realized the truth of Potter's statement in the past few weeks; the boy was truly not so horrible, and perhaps Severus's past few years could have been better had he not hated Potter so much. He might have even been able to help him, in ways Dumbledore could not. He cocked his head in agreement.

"Well," said Potter brightly, standing up to clean both their dishes, "we need not dwell on the past. We are here now, and we can only move forward." He smiled slightly. "So, how about after we work on Patronuses for a short while, we go swimming? It's a beautiful day out. It would be a shame."

Severus looked outside and pursed his lips. It was a pleasant day outside, and if he admitted it to himself, he really did enjoy swimming, especially when he conjured small tsunamis around Potter.

"Fine," he grumbled, and as Potter smiled happily, Severus felt himself return a small smile.

What was he getting himself into?

After they worked on Patronuses – during which, Severus admitted to himself, he had been appropriately shocked by Potter's remarkable skill and talent – Potter had gone upstairs to change and Severus made sandwiches. He stood at the counter, feeling a strange sensation as he placed turkey on bread.

With a small start, he realized it was contentment.

He let that strange thought simmer as he saw his large gray owl flying towards the house. Figuring it was letters from Potter's friends, he opened his window and beckoned the owl inside. Glancing quickly at the letter, he realized that it was not for Potter, but said "Severus Snape" on the front in thick print. It was addressed to his address in Spinner's End; he always had his owl bring his mail from there, but rarely had any. His contact with the Muggle world was rare at best.

He turned over the letter with a small start and saw that it was from the prison.

His father.

Severus reread the brief letter several times before allowing himself to believe the words it said.

His father had died in the prison, of bone cancer.

Severus had known he had cancer, as the jail had sent him a previous letter about it, and in a rare moment of compassion, Severus had actually travelled to the jail to see his father. It had been right after he killed Dumbledore. Severus had stood in the door to the jail hospital, seeing his father simultaneously hooked up to machines and chained to the bed. He had looked weak and small, his hair gone, but the nose that Severus had inherited as hooked as ever.

His eyes had widened when he saw Severus, and he when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "Severus." He stated. "Why are you here?"

Severus had entered the room, his impassive mask on and his arms folded tightly. How he had imagined a day like this when he was a child, one where his father would be powerless and Severus the stronger one. But now that it had come, he felt no sadistic pleasure. He only felt empty.

"I do not know." He finally said.

"How does it feel, eh? To be standing up there on your high horse, wearing those stupid clothes, while I'm here like this? Have you gotten your revenge?"

Severus had stared at him with disgust and loathing. Even on his deathbed, Tobias could still be cruel and cutting. But Severus had dealt with far worse, the weathered adult he was; the mean words would no longer send him crying in his room.

He looked at his father coldly. "They told me you are dying."

"So you decided to pay me a visit, did you?" Tobias sneered like his son. "How kind of you."

"I am not at all interested in being kind." Severus held up papers. "I had to sign papers. I am the only one listed as a contact for you. You are truly dying alone, Father."

Tobias shrugged indifferently. "I couldn't care less, Severus. Who would I want to have here with me? Certainly not you. Perhaps your mother, so she could fetch me some things…but she went and killed herself ages ago, didn't she?" He smirked.

Severus felt his calmness break like a damn. He strode towards his father's bed and braced his hands on the edge of the bed. He stuck his nose close to the one that so resembled his own, and stared into his father's dark eyes. "Because of you." he hissed ruthlessly.

Tobias's eyes turned dark. "Don't say that, you idiot boy." He hissed.

"Don't call me a boy!" Severus snarled, enraged. "She killed herself because you were a bloody awful husband, and father!" He took a deep breath to try to regain control. "I have…I have spent my entire adult life trying to be as different from you as possible, Father. To end up like you would be the utmost failure."

Suddenly, Tobias looked incredibly old, as though the cancer had aged him in those moments. Severus felt the most minute spec of empathy flicker inside him, but he pushed it down viciously.

"I agree with you, Severus."

Severus was bewildered. "What?" he hissed.

"I do not want you to end up like me. I spent the last twenty years of my life in jail and am now dying alone, in a prison hospital, chained to the bed." His face looked uncharacteristically serious. "I know you hate me, and I will not pretend to feel affection or any paternal feelings toward you, but I would not wish my fate on you."

Severus stared at his father, unsure what to say.

"I hope that you do not live and die as I did, Severus." Tobias's eyes were slowly closing, as though he were tired. But he kept them open to find Severus's hand. He took it in his own, neither gently nor nicely, but took it nonetheless. Severus stared down at the hand that had inflicted so much damage and pain on him as a child, but did not let go.

"Goodbye, Severus," Tobias murmured, his eyes drifting shut.

Severus did not speak for a long time. Hundreds of conflicting emotions fought for dominance across his face. Finally, he spoke. "Goodbye, Father."

He extracted his hand from his father's and placed it back on the bed. After a moment, he covered it with a warm blanket. With a brief glance back, he swept out of the room.

Unbeknownst to him, Tobias had woken at his son's final words to him. He watched the retreating figure with sad eyes, and fell asleep once more.

Severus now looked at the letter and placed it on the table next to him.

He did not know how to feel. Several emotions played across his brain, but the most prominent one seemed to be confusion. He leaned his head back against the couch cushion, closing his eyes and wishing he could forget.

"Snape?" he heard an uncertain voice ask. "Are you ready?"

Severus opened his eyes. He had forgotten about Potter.

Suddenly, he felt rage build inside him, one directed at his father, and his childhood, and even himself. He let it simmer as he stared impassively at Potter.

"No, Potter," he snarled scathingly, "we're not going_ swimming_ today. I am not your playmate, though you may think I am." He glared intensely, ignoring the rational part of him that was saying his anger was misdirected. "Go upstairs."

"What?" asked the boy, bewildered. "Why?"

"Do not question me!" growled Severus. "Why must you always be so insolent?"

"I'm not being insolent!" Potter shouted. "You're being totally unreasonable! What did I do?"

"Shut up, Potter!" Severus yelled back. This anger, the shouting, felt good. "Go upstairs!"

"No! Not until you tell me what's going on! Did something happen?"

"GO UPSTAIRS, POTTER!" Severus bellowed. "Unless you want to see me lose my temper!"

"As if I already haven't!" Potter shouted.

"Go upstairs, NOW, you bloody idiot. Get out of my _sight_!" roared Severus, practically shaking.

Potter opened his mouth to retort and then closed it, clenching his jaw and crossing his arms. "I'm so bloody sick of this!" he shouted, and stomped upstairs.

Severus sat back down, his heart racing and his pallid face suffused with color. He ran a hand over his tired face, over his dratted glasses, and surprisingly, fell asleep.

He woke several hours later, judging by the height of the moon in the sky. Severus felt lightheaded and slightly nauseated, probably from a combination of unchecked emotion and a lack of food. He stood up uneasily and looked outside, beckoned by the fresh air. He stepped out the back door and walked down to the sand.

He was surprised to see Potter standing there, clad in his blue pajamas and standing stiffly, with his arms crossed, staring at the full moon. Severus, after a moment's hesitation, went to stand next to him.

Potter looked to his side, surprised, but did not speak. The two men stood in silence for a while, staring at the bright moon, their clothes lightly ruffled by the summer night breeze.

Severus finally broke the silence by clearing his throat. "My father died." He said softly, keeping his eyes trained on the moon.

He felt no motion on the other side of him, and for a brief moment wondered whether it was a mistake to tell Potter the truth. But before he could ruminate further, he caught a glimpse of those damn green eyes, full of sadness, before he felt strong arms envelop his torso. After a moment, he realized that Potter was hugging him. His touch was hesitant at first, but became stronger, until he was practically suffocating Severus.

But Severus didn't mind. He had not been hugged like this in a long time, since Dumbledore had died. His arms came up hesitantly but then rested on Potter's back. At his touch, Potter sighed and his own grip became stronger.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, and began to slide one of his hands up and down Severus's upper back, as if rubbing it.

Severus said nothing, but permitted a few of his tears to fall. Potter, feeling the wetness on his shoulder, intensified his hold on Snape and continued the patting and rubbing.

Severus closed his eyes and allowed himself to be comforted.


	13. Mixed Messages

Snape broke away first, but in a gentler way than Harry expected, and sat down on the sand, his face still tear-stained. He stole a glance at Harry and opened his mouth to speak. "For what the way I acted earlier," he said in a low voice, "please…forgive me. I was distracted and angry."

Harry tried not to register shock that Snape had actually just _apologized_ to him. He nodded casually. "Forget it. I understand."

Snape sat with his knees in the air, his long fingers steepled together tightly, his knuckles whiter than ever. From Harry's point of view, Snape's fingers were right under the full moon; it looked as though the man was trying to balance it.

"I should not care." Snape muttered, more to himself, it seemed, than to Harry.

Harry shook his head. "He was your dad. It doesn't matter how…bad he was." He shifted his gaze to the full moon. "If the Dursleys died, I would probably shed a few tears. He raised you, after all."

"Yes," said Snape, his tone angry and bitter, gesturing to himself, "and look at the excellent job he did. He created _me_."

"Snape," said Harry softly, moving a few inches closer, "stop speaking about yourself like that."

Snape said nothing and continued to steeple his fingers beneath the moon. Harry stared at the man, at his rigid posture and austere expression, and thought he looked like a statue. If only the naked eye could see the emotion churning inside him.

"Where was he?" asked Harry cautiously, after a few moments. "I'm assuming he wasn't at the other house."

"In prison." Snape said shortly. He paused. "I put him there."

"What?"

Snape sighed, but his annoyance didn't seem to be directed at Harry. "When anyone joined Voldemort's ranks, they had to perform an assigned…duty, to show their allegiance. Usually it was murder, sometimes torture." He paused. "Voldemort knew of my past, or rather, the similarities between his and my childhood. He detested his own father, a Muggle, and killed him. He assigned me the task of doing the same." His knuckles grew whiter. "I could not kill him. Despite everything, I could not utter the curse. I was too cowardly."

"Snape," Harry chided gently, "as I've said before, there is nothing cowardly in being unable to kill someone. It shows you have morals."

Snape cocked his head. "Nevertheless, I could not do it. I instead framed him for a crime and sent him to jail for life, so on the off chance that Voldemort ever looked for him, he would not find him. He deserved to be in jail, for all that he put my mother and I through when I was a child." He pressed his lips. "Voldemort believed me when I told him; I had already mastered Occlumency then. He never bothered to look for my father; he couldn't fathom why I would have any qualms about murdering him, and thus, there was no question in his mind."

Harry was looking at Snape in wonder. "You lied to Voldemort to protect your father."

Snape glanced sideways at him. "I didn't exactly protect my father, Potter. He rotted in jail for the past twenty years."

"But you still risked your own life, in lying to Voldemort."

"Do not misunderstand, Potter." Snape said. "I hated my father. Truly loathed him. He was a detestable human being, in all meanings of the word. I came incredibly close to killing him."

"Then…then why are you crying?"

Snape did not speak for a few moments, and appearing to give up on balancing the moon, dropped his hands to his sides. When he spoke, his voice sounded quieter, as though a child were speaking. "Because he was all I had left."

Harry felt his eyes well. "What do you mean?"

"Not in the familial sense, I suppose…my mother died when I was fourteen. I never had any other family." He paused. "But he was the only other person in the world with whom I had…a tie. First, my mother died, then Lily, then R-" He paused, making Harry wonder who he was talking about "and then Dumbledore…at my own hands." He finished disgustedly. "My father was the only one in the world with whom I had some sort of connection, even if he cared little for my existence." He rolled his shoulders, as though trying to appear casual. "Now that is gone."

Harry scooted up and turned around, so he could look Snape in the face. He bored his own eyes into Snape's dark obsidian ones, willing the man to believe the words he was about to say.

"Snape," he said softy, "you still have me."

Rain suddenly began to pour down, instantly drenching them both, but they stayed sedentary on the sand, sitting inches from each other, radiating body heat. And long after Harry had finally stood up and pulled Snape to his feet, and Snape had set Warming charms on both of them, and Snape had gone to the piano to play so Harry could sleep, Harry still did not forget the way Snape's black ice eyes had melted, ever so slightly, when he said those words.

The next few days passed rather uneventfully. Harry and Snape discussed Snape's father occasionally, though Harry never pushed him too far. These discussions inevitably led to more talk of the Dursleys, which rather exhausted Harry, and seemed to infuriate Snape.

They were discussing the Dursleys now, as they sat in the living room in late afternoon, another sunny day coming to a close outside the expansive windows. Harry had had scraped his neck and upper back on jagged rocks at the bottom of the lake; using one of his spells, Snape had pushed Harry to the bottom of the lake violently while they were swimming. When Harry had emerged to the surface, slightly dazed, bruised, and bleeding, Snape's face had whitened and he looked slightly alarmed. They had gone back into Snape's house quickly, where Snape had immediately gotten some dittany and bruise salve, and now they sat talking while Harry applied it on his wounds. Snape's face was still a little white, and he looked apologetic.

"I hated getting hurt when I was little." Harry was saying, removing his shirt to apply the dittany and salve. "It never became clearer to me than in those times that Aunt Petunia truly hated me."

"Why?"

"Because," said Harry, "she would fix me up, quickly and efficiently as possible, without touching me. She was so rough and methodical, like she was fixing a broken pipe, not a child." He sighed. "I watched the way she used to patch up Dudley, so gentle and caring, and I wondered why she didn't do the same to me. She used to wrinkle her nose, too, when she was around me. The minute she was done, she'd push me away and tell me to go to my cupboard. She was so disgusted." His face twisted resentfully at the bitter memory.

Snape pursed his lips, and to Harry's confusion and bemusement, stood up from his chair and came to sit next to Harry.

"Give me the salve. I'll do it." He said, with a strange expression on his face.

Harry furrowed his brow, but handed Snape the jar. The man dipped two fingers in and brought them to Harry's shoulder. With a gentleness Harry did not know he possessed, he delicately applied the salve and dittany thoroughly to all of Harry's cuts and bruises. As he did so, he lightly rested his other hand gently on Harry's shoulder.

Inexpressible warmth spread through Harry's body. The gentleness, the soft touch, was so foreign to Harry, at least from adults. And though Snape could have easily remained where he was, and Harry could have easily done it himself, he had wanted to show Harry he cared. Cared about him significantly more than Aunt Petunia ever had. Harry closed his eyes at the touch and sighed.

Snape brought his hands away when he was done, momentarily disappearing to wash them in the kitchen and put the medicinal bottles away. When he returned, his expression was inscrutable. "Better?" he asked briskly. Harry nodded.

Snape looked uncomfortable. Looking away from Harry, he said uneasily, "Forgive me for what happened. It was not my intention to hurt you, I assumed the bottom was sand."

Harry smiled slightly. "Snape, now it is _you_ who keeps apologizing."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps I should stop eating the food you cook. Those diagnostic spells may have to recommence."

Harry smiled wider. "For the record, I don't care about this." He gestured at his neck and then stood up, pointedly looking in Snape's eyes. "It was worth it."

He walked past, looking slightly bemused, and with a slight pat on the man's shoulder, walked upstairs to change for dinner.

Harry went to bed early that night, exhausted from the day, and slightly drained from medicine Snape had made him take for his wounds. He was on the edge of sleep, close to giving in, until Snape's piano playing abruptly stopped and he heard low voices.

Groaning with exhaustion, but overpowered by curiosity, he crept out of bed and to the top of the stairs. He could hear Snape's silky voice conversing with two other ones, one more high-pitched and one even lower. Harry almost instantly recognized them as those of Savage and Kelly. He crept down to the middle of the stairs, eager to listen.

"-perhaps, one of us," Kelly was saying. Harry strained to listen.

"I believe any of us would be happy to do so." Savage said. "I know how disagreeable you originally were, and I can only imagine that close quarters have done nothing to alleviate that. It's become apparent that the entire Auror department need not focus our sole attention on Lestrange at the moment, as the entire Ministry and wizarding world are."

"Also," Kelly added, "some of the Aurors live in large wizarding villages. Of course we wouldn't bring Potter out and about, but it would be good for him to immerse himself in our world at his age, don't you think? He's practically a celebrity. The whole world is dying to see him."

"Also, you both need to heal." Savage stated. "I doubt that being here together, isolated, is really conducive to that." He paused. "Plus, some of us have children of our own. We are very in tune to the needs of a boy like Harry."

Unseen in the dark corridor, Harry shook his head. Snape _was_ in tune to his needs.

"So, Severus, does that sound agreeable? We could pick him up tomorrow, once it's decided who will take him in."

Harry waited with bated breath. From what he gathered, it sounded like one of the Aurors wanted to take him in now, as they thought Snape didn't want him and also couldn't really do a sufficient job. But that wasn't true, was it?

Harry did not want to go with any of the Aurors. Though it sounded strange to admit to himself, he _liked _being here with Snape. The man was more than capable of protecting Harry, and though Harry was rather loathe to admit it, Harry enjoyed being in his company. He was actually quite decent.

And didn't Snape feel the same way about him?

"Well," Snape's voice started. Harry's heart thudded. "I suppose you are right. Return at noon tomorrow, he will be packed and ready."

Harry's heart sank and tears threatened to blind him. He slunk back up to his room, crawling into his bed, wondering why he had been so wrong, why Snape still hated him, and cried himself to sleep.

He woke the next morning with bloodshot eyes. He dressed robotically, looking around the room he had grown to love, knowing that come noon, he would be unwelcome there.

He trudged downstairs to see Snape sitting at the table, eating toast, with a plate next to him stacked with jam toast. He seemed engrossed in the book he was reading, but upon seeing Harry, raised his eyebrows slightly in greeting.

Harry did not greet him back, but instead sat down at his chair in stony silence.

"Potter," said Snape briskly, putting down his book and seemingly oblivious to Harry's icy demeanor, "I have something to discuss with you. Savage and Kelly came to visit last night after you went to bed."

Harry stared back at him coolly. Snape's brow furrowed as he continued.

"They suggested that one – "

"I know!" interrupted Harry, shouting. "I know what they suggested! That I go live with one of them!"

Snape nodded. "Does that arrangement sound appealing to you?"

Harry stared at Snape, dumbfounded. The man really _did_ hate him. "Are you serious?"

"Why would I be joking, Potter?" asked Snape. "You said you heard the conversation."

Harry's eyes widened. "Yes," he said icily, "I heard how readily you agreed!"

Snape looked bewildered. "Why are you upset?"

Harry looked back, shaking his head. "Forget it. I'll pack."

"No, Potter," Snape said, annoyed, "say it. Look at me."

It was those three words that broke the dam of Harry's anger. "I'm a bloody idiot!" He yelled furiously. "I thought – I thought you didn't hate me anymore! I thought that all that stuff – looking at the album, talking about your dad, even you putting that bloody salve on me – I thought it meant that you had stopped seeing me as my father!" He sighed angrily. "I was wrong. You took the first chance to get me out of here."

Snape shook his head lightly, understanding dawning on his face. "Potter, no, I –"

"NO!" shouted Harry. "I'm sick of these excuses! I thought you were a decent person, but you evidently don't give less than a rat's arse about me. I have tried, Snape, to help you, and I thought I _was_. But just like the Dursleys, you couldn't care less, and just like everybody else, you're_ leaving_!" He stood up suddenly. "I'm going to go pack. Maybe the Auror I stay with will actually _care_!" And with that, he stormed out of the room and upstairs, anger and hurt fighting for dominance on his face. Hurt triumphed, and he fell to his bed, trying to take calm and steadying breaths, but eventually giving into the sobs.

A few hours later, Harry was still horizontal on his bed, his blankets stained with tears. He had packed angrily, his trunk a haphazard mess, and was attempting to calm himself down by lying in bed until noon. He _certainly_ wasn't going to talk to Snape. Snape was probably downstairs, counting down the minutes until Harry left, cackling to himself about what a maudlin fool Harry was.

To his surprise, he heard a knock on his door. Were the Aurors here already?

He tried to wipe his tears away and straightened himself up, grabbing a book to make it look as though he were reading. "Come in!" he called.

But to his surprise, it was Snape who entered, his expression impassive but his lips pressed together tightly. Harry was struck by a sudden thought that Snape looked remarkably like Mr. Weasley at that moment, with his tall, thin build and glasses, framed by a doorway and wearing a slightly stern expression. He shook that thought, threw Snape a dirty look, and got back into bed. He knew he was being incredibly childish pulling the covers over his head, but he did it anyway. "Go." He said venomously.

He heard nothing for a few moments and was briefly gratified that Snape had left, but then he felt the bed shift, and a low voice above him.

"Potter." Snape stated softly.

Under the covers, Harry's eyes widened. Snape had never used that gentle tone, almost pleading. Against his better judgment, he pulled the covers a few inches, exposing his botchy face.

"Please come downstairs." Said Snape softly. "We need to speak." He got up and, walking out the door, turned to Harry. "I made blackberry pie."

Harry looked at the ceiling. After that night with the snake, when they had looked at the pictures of him and Harry's mum, Snape had left the pie Harry made out without eating it. When Harry had questioned this, Snape had evasively said that eating a pie alone was depressing. Harry had vowed that Snape would never have to eat a pie alone again, especially because it happened to be his favorite kind.

And now the dratted man had made it. Grumbling about mixed signals, Harry trudged downstairs.

Snape was sitting at the table drinking tea. The pie sat untouched, next to another full mug of steaming tea. Harry sat down, quickly cut himself a piece, and began eating aggressively, stabbing his fork angrily.

"Potter." said Snape again, his eyes intently watching the boy. Disarmed by the odd tone again, Harry stopped eating and looked up at him.

Snape looked away uncomfortably. "I think you misunderstood my actions last night."

"No, I didn't." said Harry coldly. "You readily agreed to ship me off with one of the Aurors."

Snape cocked his head. "I did. I meant that you misunderstood my motivation."

Harry shook his head angrily, his eyes trained on the pie. "You don't want me here. It's not complicated."

Snape looked at him and steepled his fingers together. "Is that why you reacted so angrily this morning? Because you think that's true?"

"It is true!" Harry said angrily.

Snape shook his head distinctly. "It's not, Potter. Not at all." Harry looked up at him suspiciously, trying to read the black eyes.

"If you don't…_not_ want me here, then why did you agree?"

"I thought _you_ didn't want to be here." Snape said simply.

Harry dropped his fork. "What gave you that idea?" he asked sharply.

"Potter," said Snape exasperatedly, "you do realize you just defeated the greatest Dark wizard of all time? I realize you need to be under protection for the time being, but there is…there is so much out for you in the world. The entire world will bow at your feet." He said this honestly, without malice. "Why would you want to be here, with me?"

Harry suddenly understood. It wasn't that Snape didn't want him there, it was that he feared _Harry _didn't want to be there. Well, that couldn't be further from the truth.

"Look at yesterday." Snape continued. "I practically killed you. I am not fit to...watch over you like this. Not to mention, you would probably enjoy yourself more elsewhere. Somewhere with other children, or somewhere less isolated…" he trailed off, looking at Harry expectantly, as though daring him to disagree.

"Snape." Said Harry loudly. He had something to say, but he wanted to confirm his guess. "Do you hate me?" Snape shook his head quickly. "Do you…do you care about me?" Snape nodded quickly.

"That is exactly _why_ I want to stay." Harry said quietly. "Do you think any of those Aurors would play the piano every night so I could fall asleep without nightmares? And would they, when I do have nightmares, wake me up without being annoyed and bring me downstairs to talk and drink tea, to show me photo albums to make me feel better?" He paused and looked meaningfully at Snape. "Would they have put that salve on me, so gently, after I talked about Aunt Petunia avoiding touching me, just to show that they _did_ care?"

Snape did not seem to have an answer for this and took a long drink of tea. "I do not know." He spoke finally.

"And do you think any of them understand the war, and all I endured, as well as you do?" Harry asked. "_You_ are the best person to help me heal. You have already helped me." He paused. "And for the record, I care about you, too. A great deal. And, though it does surprise me, I have actually enjoyed my time here. I am not so eager for it to end, not until I have succeeded in setting one tsunami on you."

Snape actually smiled. A real, genuine, smile, one that lit up his face and made him look years younger. Harry continued. "That's why I was so hurt. I thought you didn't want me here."

Snape shook his head. "I do want you here. I have…somewhat enjoyed your company as well, to my great confusion and shock." He said pointedly. "I…I'm sorry you misunderstood my intentions."

"There you go, apologizing again!" exclaimed Harry playfully, clucking his tongue. "What are we going to do with you?" Then Snape actually laughed, the sound deep and rumbly, music to Harry's ears, and Harry joined in.

Suddenly, the Floo roared to life and Savage and Kelly tumbled out gracefully, clad in their Auror robes.

"Mr. Potter!" Kelly greeted. "Lovely to see you. Are you packed?"

"Erm, actually," Harry said, standing up as Snape followed suit, "there's been a change of plans."

Harry gently placed his hand on Snape's shoulder, grasping it. "He's going to stay with me for the time being." Snape said.

"Really?" asked Savage, exchanging a confused glance with Kelly. "Did you decide this, Mr. Potter?"

"We both did." Harry responded. "When he's not chopping bits of me off for potions ingredients, Snape's not half-bad. So while I appreciate the offer of another Auror, please tell them I am happy where I am."

"You're sure of this, Severus?" asked Kelly, her expression bewildered. He nodded.

"Er, very well," said Savage uncertainly. "We'll, er, be in touch." He turned back to the Floo and after a moment's hesitation, Kelly followed suit. They both disappeared in a cloud of green smoke.

"Chopping you up for potions ingredients?" Snape asked, a small smile on his lips. "I think they might have thought you were serious." He added thoughtfully.

"You would never cause bodily harm to the Boy Who Lived, would you?" asked Harry teasingly. "The entire wizarding world would be after you."

"Oh yes," said Snape, his voice heavy with sarcasm, "that would be dreadful, especially as it has never happened to me before." He smiled a little again, and Harry, in a great rush of affection, grasped Snape's shoulders and hugged him.

"What are you doing, Potter?" asked Snape, his voice muffled.

"Shut up, Snape, the Chosen One is hugging you, you ought to be honored." Harry teased, hearing Snape's huff. But then he started laughing, and after a moment's hesitation, Snape's own deep chuckling joined in.

Harry smiled in satisfaction at the sound of Snape's laughter. The man sounded _happy_.

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was the longest one yet, I think. Also, we will find out later who the R- person Snape mentioned is (although it's pretty obvious). I will update in the next few days, hope you're all liking the story so far! **


	14. Nightmares

Severus stopped laughing after a few moments and pulled away, sitting back down to eat a slice of pie. Although Potter's unprecedented attacks of affection were not reviled by Severus, or even entirely unwelcome, he would never get used to the constant physical contact. Even when Dumbledore had tried to comfort him after particularly nasty Death Eater meetings, Severus had rejected the physical consolation. He simply was not a hugger.

The two men ate in somewhat companionable silence until Severus spoke. "I have to travel to Diagon Alley today." He stated. "I am in need of some supplies for the potion on which I have been working. I trust you will be fine while I'm gone?" Potter nodded. "And when I get back, we will work on Potions. Merlin knows you still need a little help in that area."

"I've gotten loads better though." Potter said through a mouthful of pie.

"Chew with your mouth closed, Potter." Severus said dispassionately. Potter swallowed. "You have improved somewhat since Hogwarts, but that is not saying very much." He allowed.

Potter pursed his lips. "Potions aren't extremely important in becoming an Auror."

"Yes, they are." Severus disagreed. "That is why I am helping you." He stood up to leave, cleaning his dish in the sink and grabbing a travelling cloak.

"I'll see you in a few hours, Potter." He said. "Try not to do anything foolish."

Potter smirked cheekily. "I'll try." And with a whoosh of Floo powder, Severus was gone.

SS

Severus returned only forty minutes later, after realizing all the ingredient stores in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade were sold out of lavender at the moment, the one thing he needed. He sighed, knowing the potion would have to wait, and slipped off his travelling cloak. He made himself some strong tea to prepare to teach Potter potions – the boy was not unintelligent, but sometimes it really was trying – and went upstairs to find the boy.

However, he was not in his room. Bemused, Severus returned downstairs, passing through the empty kitchen, and found him in the living room, sitting on the couch reading.

No, not reading. Flipping through photos, with Severus's box next to him.

Anger coursed through his veins like wildfire. "PUT THOSE DOWN!" Severus shouted, enraged.

Potter looked up like a chastised child and quickly stuffed the photos back in the box. "I'm sorry." He said immediately. "I didn't know you were coming back so soon, I didn't want you to find out –"

"Find out that you were snooping through my private things?" Severus said dangerously.

Potter's face reddened slightly. "I was bored, Snape, I thought there might be more pictures of my mum – you showed me that album – "

"Yes, Potter, I did show you the album, it seems that was a great mistake!" Severus shouted. "Need I add, I showed you that album myself, on my own terms! There are personal photos in that box!"

"I just opened it!" Potter said hastily. "I only saw a few more of Mum when you were kids, and, er, some of Reg-"

"Regulus." Severus finished venomously.

Potter nodded nervously, trying to shove the box into Severus's hands. Severus instead levitated it with his wand and banished it to his own bedroom.

"You had absolutely no right, Potter." Severus said, practically shaking with anger.

"I didn't know you and Regulus were friends." Potter pleaded. "You mentioned something about him the other day and I was just curious – it makes me happy to know – "

"Happy to know that your mother was not the only friend I ever had, Potter?" Severus asked icily. He knew what Potter was thinking. "Go away, Potter."

"No, Snape, please, I'm sorry – "

"GO UPSTAIRS, POTTER!" Severus thundered. Potter glanced back uneasily, opening his mouth to say something, but then trudged upstairs.

Severus sat back on the couch, exhausted. He had had every right to get angry with Potter over snooping in his personal stuff, but perhaps part of his rage was unwarranted.

He hated thinking about Regulus almost as much as he hated thinking about Lily. Regulus had known him during the worst times, when his friendship with Lily had ended, when they both realized they could not handle the duties of being a Death Eater. Although his feelings for him were obviously different than those for Lily, Regulus had been a loyal friend to Severus, one of the very few people in the world he had ever loved. And while he had been somewhat prepared for Lily's death, Regulus's had come as a total shock. He closed his eyes in bitterness.

SS

He sat like that, frozen on the couch, for longer than he realized, replaying the bittersweet memories in his mind, not exactly asleep, but not exactly conscious. It wasn't until he smelled the pungent fragrance of beef that he broke out of his reverie. Looking up, he saw the black night sky.

"I made dinner." Said a voice. Severus looked up to see Potter standing in the doorway. "Please, come eat."

Severus did not get up. He was still furious with Potter, and was frustrated that he had reverted back to disliking the boy. He had actually enjoyed being on neutral, even good, terms with him, and now that was all gone.

Two hours later, Severus decided he was hungry and needed to eat. Potter must have given up waiting on him and gone to bed, hopefully. Severus stiffened at the thought of having to play the piano for the boy tonight.

He got up gingerly, making his way into the dark kitchen. Alas, Potter was sitting there, a full and steaming plate of shepherd's pie on the table next to him.

Upon seeing him, Potter immediately straightened up and looked directly at Severus. "I'm really sorry, sir. I was completely wrong to do what I did, it was childish, and it wasn't my business."

Severus opened his mouth to say something cutting but was rather disarmed by the raw sincerity of Potter's words. "It was incredibly juvenile." He said coldly.

"I know," Potter nodded. "Please don't be mad."

"I am mad." Severus stated, but sat down. "You broke my trust, Potter."

Potter looked appropriately ashamed. "I'm sorry. What will it take to earn it back?"

Severus paused. "Time." After a moment's hesitation, he hungrily devoured the shepherd's pie. As he expected, it was delicious.

He looked up to see Potter looking at him intently. "Sir," he began, "is, er…Regulus a sore subject? Like my mum?" Potter winced as though expecting Severus to explode.

"Potter," Severus hissed, "are you seriously pushing that far?" He looked at the boy in disbelief.

"I'm sorry." Said Harry immediately. "That was a stupid question. Just enjoy your food, I'll shut up."

They continued to sit in silence for several minutes before Severus finally spoke. "Regulus was my closest friend from Slytherin." He said shortly.

Potter's eyes widened at the admission. "I see, sir." He paused, biting his lip. "You know, er, that Regulus was good in the end, right? He died defying Voldemort."

Severus sighed. "You cannot assign labels like "good" and "bad" to people, Potter. Most are a mix." He said impatiently. "But I realize Regulus died in defiance of the Dark side."

Potter paused, as though debating whether or not to speak. He chose to. "Is that why Sirius and you hated each other so much? Because you and Regulus were friends?" Potter asked boldly.

Severus sighed, overcome with memories. "Shut up, Potter." He said, annoyed. "You should be happy you aren't being punished, don't start asking me personal questions."

Potter's face fell. "I'm sorry."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Severus wondered if, and hoped that, Potter would go up to bed. His presence was becoming a little tiresome.

But then he caught sight of those green eyes watching him, nervously, with a touch of defiance. He had not looked like that in so long.

"Your godfather's hatred of me," he began, and Potter looked up gratefully, "was borne of several things. One of them was that he believed that I "stole" Regulus from him."

"But that's stupid." Potter stated. "Why did he think that?"

"Regulus was a very impressionable young man." Severus said, remembering the eager, bright-eyed first year he had encountered. "He was already prejudiced with his parents' beliefs, and being in Slytherin only augmented those ideas. He fit in easily with the other budding Death Eaters, such as myself." His voice turned bitter. "Black believed I turned Regulus into a Death Eater. I did not, but I did not necessarily stop him either."

"What…what was Regulus like?"

Severus paused, sighing. "Regulus was not like the other Death Eaters." He said. "He did not find pleasure in torturing or harming other people. Although he was heavily indoctrinated in his parents' ideals, he never insulted my friendship with your mother as the others did. A bit like Draco Malfoy, Regulus carried a façade of meanness, but deep down, he had morals."

"He was your closest friend, you said, of all the other Slytherins?"

"Yes." Severus said. "As I said before, he did not insult or mock my friendship with Lily as the others did. And he never mentioned my half-blood status. And both him and I shared a certain…dislike for some of the more cruel Death Eater activities."

"How did he react when your friendship with my mum ended?" Potter asked quietly.

Severus paused, bitter at the memory. "All of the other Slytherins were thrilled. They thought my behavior was commendable, and were glad that I was "rid" of Lily." He pushed his empty plate away. "But Regulus…understood a little more. He understood the concept of love more than any of them ever did. And he never told anyone, though I think he did know my true feelings for your mother."

A sudden memory came to him. Shortly after the Mudblood incident, he had been sitting with Regulus at the Slytherin common table, eating breakfast, when James Potter had started motioning to Severus across the Great Hall, patting his head and pretending to lather it with shampoo, pointing to Severus to mock him. Before Severus could react, Regulus had stood up next to him and started pretending to comb his hair, pointing back at James Potter. Severus had been unable to stifle his laughter at Potter's surprised and affronted reaction. Regulus had sat back down and winked at Severus, darkly commenting that Potter was an arse. Severus could not explain how grateful he was, so he had merely nodded at Regulus, who smiled widely back.

"In our later years at Hogwarts, Regulus protected me from your father and the other Marauders." Severus stated now.

"He fought his own brother?" asked Potter quietly.

Severus nodded. "With appropriate provocation, yes." He paused. "That did nothing to alleviate the tension between Black and Regulus."

"Did Regulus hate Sirius?"

"No." Severus said. "He pretended to be ashamed of his brother's Gryffindor status, and to some extent that sentiment was probably genuine, but, for reasons I still do not understand, Regulus…loved Black. Losing his brother to the opposing side of the war was very difficult for him."

"That's why you were friends." Potter remarked thoughtfully. He paused for the longest time yet, twiddling his thumbs. "How did you feel when he died?"

"Devastated." Severus said simply. "It did not unhinge me as your mother's death did, as I had not caused it, but I still felt a measure of guilt. And losing him made your mother's death that much harder to endure, as I was alone."

Neither spoke for the longest while yet. The candles Potter had lit slowly burned to their nubs and the shepherd's pie was long gone. Severus realized, in the final dying flames of the last candle, that Potter's face was tearstained.

"I don't know how you do it." Potter said finally.

"Do what?"

"Live." Potter cleared his throat. "If I lost Ron, Hermione, or Ginny…and I had nobody to turn to…I don't know if I would survive it." Severus had nothing to say to this, and continued to stare at Potter. Eventually the boy got up, giving Severus a small smile, and bade him good night. "You don't have to play the piano tonight, I'm pretty tired. Just go to sleep." And he retreated upstairs.

Severus got up a few minutes later, surprised at how exhausted and drained he felt for sitting in a chair practically all day. He felt a small flicker of surprise as he realized that he had shared more with Potter that night, and all the other nights they'd been at his home, than he had with anyone else in his life, even Dumbledore. Although the boy was annoying and overly inquisitive, he was a strangely good listener, actually able to somewhat empathize with Severus's feelings. Merlin knew he still harbored negative feelings for the boy, but he did not mind speaking with him as much as he might have once thought. Lily had been a good listener, too.

He trudged up to his bedroom, and though he thought better of it, he took out a few pictures of him and Regulus together, smiling and unaware of the bleak futures that lay ahead of them. Severus fell asleep with tears running down his hooked nose.

SS

Severus woke to the sound of agonized screams. Groaning, shoving his glazes haphazardly onto his face, he tumbled out of bed and paced to Potter's room.

The boy was on his back, screaming and sobbing in agony, his sheets twisted and damp with sweat. Potter's face was tearstained and red, his grasping knuckles white and dripping with blood, as though he had bitten them.

Severus approached him, taking his shoulders and saying his name, cursing himself for not playing the piano. Potter had not had a nightmare in so long.

"Potter," he stated loudly, grabbing the boy's shoulders roughly. "Potter, it's a nightmare."

But minutes passed and Potter continued to scream, repeating the word "no" over and over, in crescendos of fear and intensity. Severus furrowed his brow, unsure what was trapping Potter in this dream, grasping his shoulders tighter.

"NO!" Potter screamed. "STOP HURTING HIM!"

Severus grasped Potter's shoulders until it was probably painful. The boy was probably dreaming about one of his friends, maybe the Weasley boy, or perhaps his dratted godfather. Severus frowned in distaste at that thought.

"NO!" Potter continued. "_STOP_! I'm so sorry…I'm so sorry, Snape…"

Had Severus heard correctly?

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" bellowed Potter, his eyes still squeezed shut. "Snape, I'm so sorry…I couldn't save you…"

Severus shook Potter until the boy's eyes flew open. As they saw Severus, they widened in surprise and anxiety. Suddenly Potter grabbed Severus's shoulders roughly, staring at his eyes intently as though making sure he was really there.

"SNAPE!" Potter screamed. "He's coming after you! Voldemort is trying to kill you!"

"Potter, I'm right here. Voldemort is dead. You had a nightmare." Severus said, trying to make the deranged boy see reason.

Potter moaned as he stared at Severus, shaking his head. "Snape, no, Voldemort wants to kill you, I couldn't protect you, I'm so sorry, I tried so hard…"

Severus did not know what to say. Why would Potter be dreaming about _him_? He grabbed the boy's hands and squeezed, trying to return him to reality.

After a few moments Potter's eyes returned to their normal size and he seemed to regain his sanity and consciousness. He took one look at Snape and began crying, taking the man's hands and squeezing them tightly.

"I thought you were dead," Potter sobbed. "Oh, Merlin, Snape, you're alive…I dreamt he was torturing you and I was chained to a tree, I couldn't help you…it was agony….I'm so sorry…"

"Harry." Snape said quietly. "You have nothing to apologize for."

Potter looked up in surprise at Severus's use of his first name. This seemed to make him more emotional, as his eyes grew glassier with tears. "I was so scared." He said quietly. "I didn't want to lose you."

Severus reached out to squeeze Potter's shoulder reassuringly, unsure how to provide comfort, but Potter instead pulled Severus to him, grasping his shoulders tightly. As his body shook against Severus's, the older man patted his hand awkwardly on Potter's back.

Potter eventually pulled back, having composed himself.

"You called me Harry." He stated.

Severus raised his eyebrows. "I did."

Potter stared at Severus intently, as though trying to determine if he was really there. "I like that." He paused. "Can I call you Severus?"

Severus felt a flicker of surprise. Months ago, that question would have sent him into a rage, especially from a student. But now, looking at the boy who had just been agonized over the thought of Severus being tortured and killed, it only seemed natural to accept.

"If you wish."

"I do wish." Potter nodded. "I'm sorry I woke you up again. Thanks for, er…helping me."

"I didn't really help you," Severus admitted. "You stayed in the nightmare longer than usual."

Potter stared at him with a strange expression. "Well, it was traumatic. You were being tortured." Severus opened his mouth to speak but, at a loss for how to respond, closed it.

"Look, you need to go to bed." Potter said. "Don't play the piano, I'll be fine."

Severus shook his head. "I'll charm the keys." And with a flick of his wand, the melodies of Mozart were instantly heard.

"Why don't you always do that?" Potter asked.

Severus paused, deciding whether or not to be truthful. "I like the feeling of helping you." He said simply.

Potter's face broke into a smile. "Have a good sleep, sir."

Severus got up and walked to the door, pausing on the way out to make sure Potter was actually going to fall asleep. "Good night, Harry."

SS

The next morning the two sat at breakfast, eating porridge. Both slightly exhausted from the previous night's events, they were drinking multiple mugs of tea with bleary eyes.

"Can I ask you a question?" said Potter.

"You always say that." Said Severus, half-irritated, half-amused. "Just ask the question, and I will deem it worthy of a response or not."

Potter paused. "Why didn't you ever marry?"

Severus paused eating. "Don't you know the answer to that?" he asked scathingly.

"I know, my mum and all, but did you ever consider finding someone else? Someone you could settle down with?"

"My lifestyle isn't really conducive to that type of relationship, Potter." Severus said, annoyed. "I did my…experimenting during my Death Eater days, but I never found someone like your mother. I did not want to trap myself in a loveless marriage."

Potter nodded as if in understanding. "Well, I think it's a bit of a shame."

"Why?"

"Not that you didn't find a wife, necessarily. Just that…did you ever consider having kids?"

"No." Severus answered honestly. Curiously, Potter's face fell a bit. "You are disappointed." Severus stated, confused.

Potter shrugged. "I just think you would have made a good dad."

Severus practically snorted on his tea. "Did that nightmare make you ill, Potter?"

"No!"

"_Me_, a good father?" Severus asked incredulously.

Potter frowned. "Well, yeah." He said, as though it were obvious. "Perhaps you would be a bit strict, and your kid might only dress in black, but yeah. You have all the qualities."

"I would be a terrible father." Severus stated. "Look at the example I had, of my own father. I wouldn't know the first thing."

"You aren't your father, Severus." Said Potter softly.

"Look at how I treated students as a teacher." Severus said wryly.

Potter cocked his head in agreement. "I cannot dispute that. You were, forgive me, an absolute git in class." He smiled slightly. "But you're different here. If it was your own kid, I know you would be decent and good." He frowned. "I just wish you were more, er…open to the idea."

Severus knitted his eyebrows together. Why did he need children? He had Potter, and he was satisfied with that.

Merlin, where did _that_ come from?

SS

A couple hours later as the pair sat reading, Severus saw his owl out the window bearing a letter. He let her in, surprised to see that the letter was addressed to him in familiar handwriting.

He read the letter twice, ignoring Potter's curious gaze. He put it down, staring out the window.

"Who is it from?" Potter asked quietly.

Severus straightened up, staring out the windows at the lake, his voice stiff and quiet.

"The Malfoys are coming to visit."

**A/N: Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I tried to incorporate some of the comments from reviews. Thanks for the reviews, by the way, you are all awesome! Please keep them coming, I love to hear your thoughts, good or bad! Next chapter we will see the Malfoys come to visit Harry and Snape, should be interesting, stay tuned! Should update in the next few days. **


	15. The Malfoys

Harry stared back, confused. "Why would the Malfoys visit?"

Snape looked out the window. "They heard you are staying here. And would like to speak with both of us."

Harry narrowed his eyes shrewdly. "Could it be a trap? What if…what if they're plotting with Rudolphus?"

Snape narrowed his eyes too, as if he were considering the thought, but his expression cleared after a moment. "I doubt it." He said. "Lucius and Narcissa escaped Azkaban by the skin of their teeth, they are not foolish enough to risk anything. And quite frankly, with Voldemort gone, they have no motivation."

"But why would they want to talk to me?" asked Harry.

"There is likely an ulterior motive, some selfish intention." Snape mused thoughtfully. "But I highly doubt that they are dangerous. I do wonder, however, why they have not invited us to _their_ house. Why would they prefer to meet at my house in Spinner's End than the manor?" He asked rhetorically.

"I don't want to go the manor." Harry said quickly. "Did you hear about what happened there? I was locked in a basement, Hermione was tortured…no way am I going back there."

"Perhaps that is why they have not invited us." Snape said.

Harry snorted. "You think they're that thoughtful?"

"If they want something from you, then yes." Snape answered knowingly. He ran a hand tiredly over his face. "They're coming at six tonight. I'm not showing them this house; we'll have to go back to Spinner's End and clean up a bit." He looked heavily annoyed, scribbling back a note in untidy scrawl and muttering under his breath about being inconsiderate and intrusive.

HP

Harry and Snape stood in the kitchen preparing dinner together. Harry was dreading seeing Malfoy; although the two had been mortal enemies from their Hogwarts days, Malfoy had sort of saved his life at the manor, and Harry his in the Room of Requirement. That, coupled with Malfoy's complicated participation as a Death Eater, would surely make for very awkward dinner conversation. Not to mention, Harry rather disliked both the boy's parents, although Lucius more than Narcissa.

Then there was another nagging worry at the back of Harry's head that Hermione would have told him was totally irrational (he had owled Ron, Hermione, and Ginny telling them about the Malfoy's impending visit, asking for advice, but they hadn't yet responded). Harry knew from his years at school that Snape had always favored Draco, and had almost had a godfather-like relationship with him outside of class. At that thought, Harry felt the slightest pang of jealousy.

"What do you think of the Malfoys?" asked Harry carefully, chopping carrots.

"That's a complicated question." Snape answered evasively.

"I mean, do you like them?" asked Harry, his eyes trained on the carrots.

"Lucius attended Hogwarts during my first three years there. Although many other Slytherins were disdainful of my blood status, Lucius was never unkind. He knew of my interest and knowledge in the Dark Arts, and aptitude for potions and charms. And of course, he saw in me a fierce desire to prove myself." His tone sounded bitter. "He became somewhat of a friend, introducing me to the circle of future Death Eaters and trying to advance himself by bringing me as a recruit. We became closer when we were both in service for Voldemort, and after his demise, as we were two of the few who were not put in Azkaban."

"So," asked Harry quietly, "do you blame him for you becoming a Death Eater?"

"That is why I said it's a complicated question, Potter."

"What about Mrs. Malfoy?"

"I have always liked Narcissa." Snape admitted. "Like Lucius, I met her when I was at Hogwarts. She has always treated me, if not kindly, cordially, unlike her sister." Snape's face became twisted at the mention of Bellatrix, as did Harry's. "She is also much saner and less cruel than Bellatrix was."

Harry humphed. "She kind of saved my life."

"Ah yes, enlighten me of how that happened? I seem to remember McGonagall mentioning it."

"After I was, er, in that death-like state and all, I woke up on the ground in the Forbidden Forest, and Voldemort obviously thought I was dead. But he made someone check to make sure, and it happened to be Mrs. Malfoy. Within a second she knew I was alive, but then she asked if Draco was alive and in the castle." Harry said. "I said yes, and then she told him I was dead."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Had Voldemort survived, she would have been tortured endlessly and brutally killed for lying to him." He said seriously.

"I know." Harry said uncomfortably. "I s'pose it was brave."

"Narcissa cares deeply about her son." Snape said. "She was willing to refute Voldemort whenever his life was in danger."

"When else did she do it, besides then?" Harry asked curiously.

Snape suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"Did it have to do with Draco having to kill Dumbledore?" pushed Harry.

Snape pressed his lips. "Yes." He paused, looking out the window, and explained, as if defeated. "After I was made aware of Dumbledore's deteriorating health, Narcissa approached me with concerns about Voldemort's plan for Draco, asking me to protect him." He paused again. "I made the Unbeakable Vow to carry out his plan."

Harry stared at Snape, the carrots forgotten. "Why?" he asked quietly.

Snape's voice grew softer and he paused before speaking. "I didn't think I would be able to kill him without the threat of losing my own life." He began to focus intently on stuffing the turkey, his movements aggressive and deliberate.

Harry did not know how to respond to this so he focused, too, on the cooking at hand. After a few moments he realized he had forgotten to ask about the final member of the Malfoy family. "And Draco?" he said carefully. "What do you think of Draco?"

"Due to my relationship with Lucius, I have always been expected to treat Draco favorably. I find him spoiled and arrogant, but he is a talented wizard." He looked at Harry strangely. "Truthfully, part of my affinity for him drew from his mistreatment of you. I liked the idea that not everybody was fawning over the new celebrity; I thought he put you in your place."

"He was unnecessarily cruel." Harry said angrily. "An absolute git, always taunting me, Ron, and Hermione-"

"I realize that now." Snape said tiredly. "It goes without saying that my sentiments have changed." Harry felt a slight warmth in his chest.

"What did you think when he became a Death Eater?" Harry asked.

Snape paused and a muscle in his jaw jumped, as though he were angry. "I saw it as a major failure on my part." He said through clenched teeth. "Through my years at Head of Slytherin I had become skilled at convincing my students to choose paths other than being a Death Eater, but with Draco, I couldn't. He did not listen to me."

Harry and Snape continued to cook in silence and when everything was ready, sat down in anticipation. Harry nervously strummed his fingers on his knees, while Snape looked impassive as ever. Harry wished he could have that composure.

Suddenly, Snape swiftly stood and announced, "They're here." Harry briefly wondered if he was clairvoyant, as he walked down the hall.

Snape opened the door and Harry was rather shocked to see all three Malfoys standing there, looking strangely out of place in their clothes against the bleak Muggle neighborhood. However, Harry noted that they looked slightly worse for the wear, and their expressions, though still slightly haughty, lacked their previous arrogance and unconcern. Snape's expression did not change as he gestured them inside.

"Severus," Narcissa whispered, and after a moment's hesitation, she hugged Snape. He returned the hug briefly, and then broke away and gestured them all into the living room. Draco approached him with an outstretched hand and Snape shook it, patting him on the back with his other hand. Harry avoided Malfoy's gaze, but he was staring at him as he took a seat on the couch next to Snape.

"Severus." Stated Lucius loudly. "I wish to speak with you. Alone. Perhaps…outside?"

Snape looked at Lucius coldly, a calculated look on his face. "Fine." He finally said, giving a pointed look to Harry and following Lucius out the door.

Harry heard Narcissa clear her throat across from him and finally got a good look at her and her son. Narcissa's long blonde hair was pulled into a low ponytail, streaked with a few silver hairs, and there were heavy lines on her forehead and around her mouth. Although she still retained her good looks, her face was free of makeup and she looked strangely overexposed. She was knotting her hands together as though nervous.

Draco sat next to her, and Harry was shocked to see how old he looked. Gone were his boyish good looks and bright eyes, replaced with heavy frown lines and a perpetually grave expression. He looked reasonably happy now, but as though he would never get over the trauma of the war.

"Potter." Narcissa spoke in her cold, clear voice. She pressed her hands tightly together, but was watching Harry with a strange expression. "Draco told me what you and your friends did for him in the Room of Requirement." She stole a glance at Draco and Harry was disarmed at how drastically her expression softened. She paused for a few moments. "Thank you."

Harry, shocked at her words, could only nod. "I wouldn't have left him there." He said finally, almost offended at the thought.

She was still watching him with that strange expression.

"I know." Draco said, his gray eyes boring into Harry's green ones. "That's why you're Harry Potter."

Harry did not know whether to be pleased or insulted by Draco's comment, but chose the former. "Well," he admitted, "you saved my life too, indirectly, when we were at your house, so, er… thank you for that."

"I knew you recognized him." said Narcissa to Draco. But strangely, she didn't sound angry or resentful. She put her hand over her son's and gave him a small smile.

Harry, slightly touched by the small show of affection between mother and son, began to speak slowly. "Also, er, Mrs. Malfoy," he said. "for what you did in the forest – I know it wasn't for me, it was for Draco, but still. I would likely have not survived if Voldemort had realized I wasn't dead; we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. What you did was incredibly brave." He paused, looking into her icy blue eyes. "So, thank you."

To his surprise, she nodded slowly. "You really are like they say." She said thoughtfully. Draco made a small, indecipherable noise behind her.

"Meaning I'm what?"

She hesitated, her icy eyes indecipherable. "Forgiving."

Harry, disarmed by her words, nodded and looked at the floor.

Draco, apparently too uncomfortable in the awkward situation, excused himself. "I'm going to go find Dad and Snape." He muttered to his mother, patting her on the hand and nodding lightly at Harry.

Harry and Narcissa sat in awkward silence until, surprisingly, she spoke. "How has it been living with Severus?" she asked in a surprisingly cordial manner.

Harry cocked his head. "It has actually been fine, sometimes even good." He looked at his hands. "Se- Snape is a good man."

"I know he is." She said. After a few moments, she spoke again. "I knew your mother when we were at school."

Harry, remembering Narcissa's disdainful treatment of Hermione for being Muggle-born, could not help the cold edge to his voice. "I don't expect you got on."

Narcissa shook her head. "We did not." She paused, looking out the window where Snape and Lucius were talking, Snape's arms folded as Lucius was explaining something with a pained expression. Draco stood nearby, taking in the neighborhood.

"Once," Narcissa said, a faraway look in her eyes, and Harry looked at her curiously, "when I was in my sixth year, I was alone crying near the Black lake. Bellatrix had sent me a Howler earlier that day, angry at me because she had heard that I defended our sister Andromeda to one of my friends. Andie was dating that Muggle-born at that point, and Bellatrix was furious that I would dare speak a good word about her." She paused, looking into Harry's green eyes. "Although I had never been anything but rude to your mother, she approached me, at twelve years old, and handed me a handkerchief."

"Did you take it?" asked Harry, curious.

"No." said Narcissa. "But nevertheless, she sat down." She paused, and to Harry's shock, the smallest of smiles upturned her lips. "She told me she had always admired my hair."

Harry laughed. "Did she say anything else?"

Narcissa's smile disappeared and her eyes became even more faraway. "She told me that I was brave for defending Andromeda, that I was a good sister. She said she had a sister too, and although they didn't always get along, she would always defend her. She said that I shouldn't listen to Bellatrix, that I had the potential to be a good person." She bit her lip and looked at the figure of her son outside. Her next words were so soft, Harry could barely hear them. "Sometimes I wish I had listened to her."

Harry looked at her in surprise. "Thanks for that," he said sincerely.

Narcissa nodded absentmindedly and sighed. "Look, Potter, the real reason I came here today is because I need your help."

Harry immediately stiffened. "What kind of help?"

"Nothing political, nothing law-related." She said, waving a hand. "You have already done that." She pressed her lips uncomfortably. "Am I correct in saying that you are the…godfather of the child of…Andromeda's daughter?"

Harry nodded. "Teddy." He narrowed his eyes. "How does this relate to you?"

Suddenly, Narcissa looked rather anguished. She started clutching at the end of her ponytail, her expression pained. She spoke softly, as though she could not believe what she was saying. "I would like to…speak with Andromeda." She licked her lips. "Reconcile."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I think that would be unlikely. Bellatrix killed her daughter, Mrs. Malfoy."

"I know, Potter." Narcissa said tiredly. "But Bellatrix was Andie's sister as much as she was mine." She rubbed her hands together. "I want to atone for my mistakes. I should never have cut ties from Andie like I did, and now that Bellatrix is gone, I see how wrong it was."

Harry paused but then nodded. "I will do what I can."

Narcissa regained her composure and threw her hair back behind her back. "Thank you." she said simply.

In perfect timing, Snape opened the door, trailed by Lucius and Draco. "Time for dinner," he said tightly.

Snape sat at the head of the table, with Harry and Narcissa on one side, and Draco and Lucius on the other. "Eat." Snape ordered and the four others immediately obeyed, eating noisily and quickly to avoid the stifling silence.

"This is delicious, Severus." Narcissa said. "I never knew you could cook."

"Potter actually made it," Snape remarked absentmindedly, as though distracted, pointing his fork at Harry.

Draco's head suddenly snapped up, his brow furrowing at Snape's nonchalant and almost complimentary tone towards Harry. Harry supposed this was appropriate, as all Draco had seen before was Snape acting cruel and vindictive towards him.

Naricissa and Lucius looked surprised too, though Narcissa quickly recovered and gave Harry a small smile.

Harry was watching Snape, trying to read his expression and decipher his conversation with Lucius had gone. Snape peered back intently, apparently trying to do the same thing.

"So, Severus," said Lucius in his deep, cold voice, "what are your plans for the fall? Assuming this arrangement" he jerked a thumb at Harry "is over?"

Snape chewed his food carefully and swallowed, pausing before speaking. "I am not sure." He responded vaguely.

"Are you considering returning to Hogwarts?" asked Draco.

"It is unlikely." Harry was surprised. "Although I have a strong affinity for the castle, it has some difficult memories, especially from the recent past. Perhaps I will return there eventually. But teaching was never my passion."

"You were a great teacher, Severus." Draco said, reminding Harry of their Potions classes. He restrained himself from rolling his eyes. And when did Draco and Snape get on a first-name basis?

Snape smirked. "Thank you, Draco."

"Are you considering a job at the Ministry?" asked Lucius curiously. "I could certainly connect you with some important people. I am sure the Ministry would be happy to accommodate such a great hero from the war."

Harry got the impression that Lucius was trying to appease Snape, but Snape was not taking the bait. He cocked his head. "Perhaps."

"You're very skilled, Severus." Narcissa said earnestly. "I'm sure you'd be able to find a department you liked."

"Although, with the new minister…" Lucius trailed off. "I don't have a lot of faith in the Ministry."

"What, you don't like Kingsley Shacklebolt?" asked Harry hotly, interjecting in the conversation. "I guess I can see why, it'll be hard to buy your way into politics and power because he's not a corrupt git like Fudge was."

"The Ministry will not be strict enough." Lucius responded coldly. "People like Kingsley Shacklebolt tarnish the wizarding name; I would not be surprised if Muggles start walking the halls of the Ministry."

"People like _you_ tarnish the wizarding name." Harry said angrily. "You should be grateful he and I kept your arse out of Azkaban-"

"We are grateful!" Narcissa said quickly, closing her slim hand over Lucius's wrist. He sighed and looked at Harry.

"I apologize, Potter." He said tersely. Harry glared back rudely but after a long while cocked his head in acceptance.

"What are your plans, Potter?" asked Narcissa, trying to gloss things over. "Will you return for your seventh year?"

"I don't think so." Harry responded. "I'm doing a lot of makeup work right now with Sev-Snape so I think I will have learned most of the important information by the time fall begins." He looked around, raising his chin a little in defiance. "I want to be an Auror."

To his surprise, Snape nodded. "No career more fitting." He said, sounding genuine. Draco turned around to him again, open-mouthed, and Harry had to stifle a laugh.

"What about you, Draco?" asked Harry, feigning politeness and still amused by Draco's dumfounded expression.

"Well I technically finished my studies last year already." Draco responded, recovering.

"What a year it was." Snape remarked darkly. Draco actually snorted.

"I will probably work at the Ministry." He said, puffing out his chest a bit. "Father is incredibly well-connected, I think I should have no trouble getting a job." Harry rolled his eyes internally, but then Draco's eyes grew a little cloudy and he looked at his food. "But I need some time first." He said softly.

Narcissa reached across the table to squeeze his hand and Harry felt a sudden rush of pity for Draco. He had clearly been traumatized by the war more than Harry had expected.

The rest of the dinner passed by reasonably well, barring a few more slight arguments between Harry, Lucius, and Draco. Snape was surprisingly quiet, observing the interactions with interest, only speaking when questioned.

Snape stood to get dessert, grabbing a knife from the drawer. "Don't forget the whipped cream," Harry reminded him, and as Snape twisted around and bent down to get the cream he subconsciously held the knife aloft, making it look strangely threatening, framed against the full moon.

Harry heard a small gasp and Harry turned to his side to see that Malfoy had blanched, his face nearly as white as his pale hair. His gray eyes were wide and fearful, and with another small gasp, he ran from the room.

Narcissa cursed quietly and rushed after her son. Snape, bemused, put down the knife and stared at Lucius, who looked almost embarrassed.

"Draco has been experiencing…episodes since the end of the war. Small things trigger painful memories, like that knife." He ran a hand through his hair, and Harry felt surprisingly sympathetic for him. "The Healers at St. Mungo's say its post-traumatic stress."

Snape put the knife back in the drawer smoothly, looking slightly troubled.

Narcissa came back in the room, wringing her hands, looked worried. "We should go, Severus, I'm sorry," she apologized. "Draco just…needs some time."

Snape nodded. "I'll say goodbye." He swept out of the room, leaving Harry with Lucius and Narcissa, who appeared distinctly uncomfortable.

"Please do think about what I said, Potter." Narcissa said. "I just – " she stole a glance in the other room "in times like these, I realize what matters." Her husband put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm going to say goodbye to Draco." Harry said, slipping out. He lingered in the hallway, trying to hear the conversation between Snape and Draco.

"-think less of me," Draco was saying.

Harry saw Snape shake his head. "I'm sorry that I did not do more to help you, Draco, last year. I was just so consumed with…my responsibilities." He cleared his throat. His hand was on Draco's shoulder.

"I should have listened to you." Draco said quietly, regret evident in his voice. "You said it was stupid, you said it was a mistake, but I took the Mark anyway-"

"Relax, Draco." Said Snape softly. Harry felt a definite twinge of jealousy at hearing his gentle tone. "Voldemort is gone. These episodes will pass."

"The things I did!" Draco said suddenly, sounding agonized. "How can I live with myself? The things you did, Severus, you did because you had to – not of your own volition – "

"When I was seventeen like you, Draco, I did all that you did and more, of my own volition. Youth makes us do foolish things." Snape said quietly. Draco looked up and nodded.

"I think we're leaving," Draco mumbled quietly. "Thanks for having us over, even though it was strange seeing you interact with Potter. Sometimes I don't know what's going on anymore." Harry saw Snape smile slightly.

Draco reached forward and the two men hugged. "I never thanked you, Severus, for everything you did for me, especially in sixth year." Draco said quietly. "Knowing that you were always in the castle, someone I could depend on, was…it was comforting."

Snape nodded gruffly. "You have grown up a lot from the spoiled two-year-old I first met, Draco. I am…proud of how far you have come."

"Thanks, sir," whispered Draco.

Harry took this as an opportune time to make his presence known, walking quickly out of the shadows and into the room. Snape looked at him curiously, wondering how much he had heard, while Draco looked at him almost fearfully.

"Come to taunt me, Potter?" asked Draco aggressively. "Think my little freak-out was funny?"

Harry shook his head. "It wasn't funny at all, Malfoy. I'm sorry you have to deal with those." He said earnestly. Draco looked at him shrewdly, but his shoulders visibly relaxed a little.

Lucius and Narcissa followed behind, coming to put their hands on Draco's shoulders. Harry felt strangely jealous of the small family until he saw Snape come to stand close to him.

"It was good to see you, Severus," Lucius said, shaking Snape's hand. "I have no doubt we will see you soon in the future. Here's hoping they find my deranged brother-in-law and arrest him so you two can go back to your normal lives."

"Thanks, Severus." Narcissa said, hugging Snape again and, after a moment's hesitation and to Harry's surprise, briefly hugging Harry. He remembered thinking, on the ground of the Forbidden Forest, that her hands had been softer than the ones he was expecting.

Lucius nodded at Harry and Draco shook his hand, then embraced Snape briefly again as Harry looked pointedly at the floor. Within moments, the three blondes were out the door of Spinner's End and into the black night.

Snape stood erect for a few moments as though in deep thought. After a little while, he regained his alertness and motioned to Harry. "Let's go back to the cottage. I'll bring the cake."

HP

"So what did Narcissa want?" asked Snape, cutting the cake. Harry felt much better and more comfortable back at the cottage. It felt like home.

"She wants me to talk to Andromeda Tonks. She wants to reconcile." Harry explained. Snape raised his eyebrows in surprise. "She's really not that bad." Harry admitted.

"At the end of the day, Narcissa is simply a wife and mother who wants the best for her family, like most." Snape said knowingly. "That is all she wanted?"

"Pretty much. Er, what did Lucius want?"

Snape glared at the cake. "He apologized for nearly bringing me to my death."

"He didn't know, though," Harry said reasonably.

"Perhaps." Snape mused. "He also wants me – and possibly also you – to publicly absolve him, so he can get back in the Ministry's good graces."

Harry made a face. "What did you say?"

"No, naturally," said Snape smoothly, giving them both plates of cake.

"Good." Harry said, relaxing.

"What did you think of the visit otherwise?"

"I think Lucius is kind of a git." Harry said. "And Draco…surprisingly, I feel kind of bad for him. Those episodes are kind of like my nightmares. He's probably seen way worse than I have."

"Draco was unprepared for the life of being a Death Eater." Snape said carefully.

The two ate in companionable silence, but something was still nagging at the back of Harry's mind, but he did not voice it in fear of sounding completely childish. But he kept darting glances at Snape, who seemed rather tired.

"What is it, Potter?" Snape asked, eyeing Harry carefully.

Harry paused. "Nothing."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Tell me." He ordered, annoyed.

Harry pursed his lips. "Do you like Draco more than me?" he asked quickly. "I…I saw you guys hugging, and I – " Harry reddened, feeling stupid. "Forget it. It was a childish question."

"Harry." Snape said quietly. "I have always had a good relationship with Draco; he is a family friend. But my relationship with you is very different. I like Draco, but I care deeply about you." He paused, looking into Harry's eyes. "There is no comparison, now."

Harry sighed and smiled, which, to his surprise, Snape returned. "Besides, I doubt Draco can cook and bake like you. Ironic, considering his superior talent in Potions." Snape teased.

"In that case, I should see if Lucius Malfoy can play the piano." Harry teased back. "Although," he mused thoughtfully, "even if he can, I do not know if he could be as good a father as you."

As the meaning of Harry's words hit them, Harry and Snape both blanched and became fascinated with the frosting on the cake.

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! It's the longest one yet. I hope that my portrayal of the Malfoys was somewhat realistic; I have always believed them to be morally ambiguous, similar to Snape, and I would really like the idea of Narcissa and Andromeda reconciling. Anyway, in the next chapter we will see our three favorite teenagers when Ron, Hermione, and Ginny come to visit. Please keep reviewing, I love hearing your thoughts, and I'll update in the next few days!**


	16. Attempts at Distance

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for your thoughtful reviews, I love reading them. I apologize for the delay on updating, I actually had my high school graduation a few days ago so I've been busy lately. But, I hope you enjoy this chapter, I should be updating more frequently now! Happy reading and please keep reviewing!**

S.S.

Where had THAT come from?

Severus stiffened and focused on eating his cake. What was Potter talking about? _Father_?

He saw Potter's beet-red face in the corner of his eyes. And suddenly, Severus had a realization that gave him a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Potter had _meant _what he said. And for an infinite number of reasons, that was totally unacceptable.

Not least of which was that the boy deserved someone far better.

Severus was distracted from his musings by seeing his large owl at the window. He let her in and she immediately dropped three envelopes onto Potter's lap, written in varying scrawls that Severus recognized from Potions essays. The boy, still blushing, ripped open the letters and quickly read them. Severus ate rapidly and cleaned his plate, standing at the sink with his arms crossed.

A small smile played across the boy's face as he read the letters, his expression lightening and his shoulders relaxing. He even snorted at the second one, which Severus recognized as the boy Weasley's from the abysmal handwriting.

Potter pursed his lips and his eyes darted up at Severus as though nervous to speak.

"Er," he began awkwardly, "could, er, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny possibly come over in the next few days? Maybe tomorrow?" He looked down quickly after asking the question as though he could not handle the awkwardness.

Severus considered this. He needed to start pushing the boy away, and permitting his friends to come over seemed too kind and genial. But on the other hand, if the three teenagers were there Severus could avoid contact with Potter. And for both of their well-beings, that needed to start.

"Fine." He said coldly. "Tomorrow it is." He looked at the black night sky and decided it was time to go to bed. He stopped himself from saying good night to Potter and instead barked, "Clean up" to him, ignoring the boy's slightly confused expression as he momentarily glanced up at Severus.

Severus climbed the stairs quickly, keen to put distance between himself and Potter. This _father_ business would certainly not do; why had he told the boy he "cared deeply" about him? What a foolish decision.

Ignoring the small voice inside his head saying, _But you do_, Severus cast a quick silencing charm, changed into his nightclothes, and fell into a fitful and nightmare-wrought sleep.

S.S.

Severus awoke the next morning and for the first time since Potter had come to stay with him, genuinely hoped with all his might that Rudolphus Lestrange would be caught and imprisoned, so Potter could leave and they could return to their normal lives. He groaned at the prospect of seeing the two Weasleys and Granger, and slowly made his way out of bed and got dressed.

When he walked downstairs, Potter had already dressed and was eating cereal. Another bowl was set out for Severus next to him.

"Think I can't get a bowl myself, Potter?" Severus asked nastily. Yes, this ought to anger Potter.

"What?" asked Potter, confused. "I always put out an extra setting for you."

"I don't need that, Potter." Severus sneered. "You are a _guest_ in this house, it is not your own. You need not act like you live here."

Hurt was displayed on Potter's face but it quickly disappeared. "I don't know why you're in such a bad mood, if you don't want Ron, Herm-"

"Do not speak to me like that, Potter!" hissed Severus. "You are so insolent! Perhaps I am in this "bad mood", as you so eloquently and maturely put it, because I do not want _you_ here!"

Hurt and betrayal were clearly written on Potter's face now, as well as anger. "You don't mean that." His eyes narrowed.

"Don't tell me how I think, Potter." Severus said, aggressively making himself coffee. "You are far too idiotic to understand my mind." He took a sip, looking at Potter and trying to pretend he was James Potter.

"Stop," said Potter, anger growing on his face. "Stop acting like this. What did I do? Did something happen?"

Severus was briefly disarmed by sympathy, for the smallest of moments, but then recovered. "Don't tell me what to do in my own house, Potter!" he barked. "Nothing has happened except that you remain your arrogant, mediocre self. Just like your father."

"Don't talk about my dad like that!" Potter yelled. "Stop it, Snape!"

"Show me some more respect,_ Potter_!" Severus hissed angrily.

Suddenly, the fireplace in the living room glowed green and three people tumbled out ungracefully onto the floor: the two youngest Weasleys and Granger.

The three stood up and entered the kitchen, wide smiles on their faces. Granger was the first to pick up on the fact that they had just entered a screaming match and quickly squeaked, "Er – we can come back later, if need be."

"That will be unnecessary." Severus said coldly. "Go upstairs." He ordered, staring at Potter. "I want to eat in peace."

Potter glared at him, confusion and hurt behind predominating anger, but after cocking his head toward the stairs the three others followed him, glancing fearfully down at Severus.

The two girls muttered greetings to Severus as they followed Potter, which Severus pointedly ignored. The Weasley boy, as usual, looked rather cowed and afraid as he looked at Severus's stern expression. Severus sighed, cracking his knuckles, and grabbed a bowl of cereal.

H.P.

"What was that?" asked Ginny, confused. "In your letter you said you two were getting on well!"

"We were," said Harry, annoyed. "I dunno what's going on with him, he's been such an arse this morning –"

"But mate, he's always an arse," said Ron. "You can't expect anything different. I know all that stuff you found out, but still. The man's a git."

"No, he's not!" Harry said forcefully, feeling defensive. "He's been alright really, even good. Nothing like in school. He has a totally different side."

"Really?" asked Ron incredulously. Hermione elbowed him in the side.

"I believe Harry." She said. "I always thought Professor Snape was so, er, disrespectful and cold to others because he was hiding some deep, painful emotions. And he was." She said pointedly. "I'm sure Harry has been good for him to have here."

"I think so, too," Ginny added, slipping her hand into Harry's as the four entered Harry's room and sat on the floor. Harry smiled and kissed her forehead.

"Did something happen last night, when the Malfoys came?" Hermione pressed. "Something that could have made him mad at you?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He certainly wasn't going to reveal to his friends what he had let slip to Snape; they would probably run from the room screaming, especially Ron. Nor did he want to divulge the details of their life at the cottage; all those things about Snape's father and Harry's mum that they had discussed, suddenly seemed very personal and intimate. Harry knew that his friends, though not for lack of trying, would not understand.

"Not really," he said. "Just the usual arguing."

"Well, I can imagine, mate," said Ron, his arm slung around Hermione's shoulder. "You could barely make it through Potions without wanting to kill each other! I can't imagine living…_alone_ with him."

"You said it was good though, right?" asked Ginny. "That he was helping you with nightmares and stuff?"

Harry blushed a little; he had only told Ginny about his dreams. "Are you still having nightmares, Harry?" asked Hermione quietly.

"What do you mean, still?" asked Ron.

Hermione looked at Ron uncomfortably. "When you, er, left last year, Harry had a lot of nightmares. After we visited Godric's Hollow."

"I didn't know," responded Ron uneasily.

"Well," interceded Ginny, squeezing Harry's hand, "Harry said Snape's been helping him with them."

"Really?" asked Ron doubtfully. "How?"

Harry pressed his lips. "He plays the piano every night. It…relaxes me."

"Plays it manually?" asked Hermione curiously. "Couldn't he just charm the keys?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally. Understanding, Hermione's eyes softened and she nodded. "I see," she whispered.

"That's why I dunno why he's being so rude now." Harry commented, almost to himself.

"Professor Snape is a complicated man, Harry." Hermione said knowingly. "But I know he'll come around." She patted his hand reassuringly as Ron looked on dubiously.

They spent the rest of the morning pleasantly, discussing the Malfoys' visit and what the other three had been up to. Ron was helping George out at the store and reported that, although George was doing better every day, he was still extremely depressed. Ron's normally carefree, easygoing countenance changed dramatically as he was explaining his brother's attitude and Hermione squeezed his hand.

Hermione had been spending time with her parents after restoring their memories, catching up on several years' worth of lost time. They had renewed their dentistry, and Hermione had brought along some teeth whitening solution that she told Harry to give to Snape. Nodding politely but hiding a grin, he pocketed the solution and made a mental note to throw it away.

Ginny had been laying low with her family, continuing to support them in the wake of Fred's loss. She had strangely grown close with Fleur, which Harry found highly amusing as his girlfriend had hated her sister-in-law with a passion when they first met. But like Ron, Ginny's eyes got a dead, empty look when she talked about George. Harry leaned his head against hers.

Harry's mood improved dramatically as he spent the morning with his friends. He had forgotten how much he valued their companionship; Ron's tireless humor, Hermione's brilliance, and Ginny's kindness. But at the same time, he also realized how much he valued his time with Snape. There was a sort of maturity and wisdom that Snape possessed that Harry's friends conspicuously lacked, despite all they had endured. Although Harry's friends understood him and had seen him at his worst, Snape had suffered almost exactly as he did.

Around noon they went down to the kitchen and had lunch; Snape was nowhere to be seen. Harry figured he was down in his lab working on his potion. Hermione had practically begged to go down and see him, but Harry warned against it; no need to worsen his mood by having Hermione pester him, no matter how good her intentions. After lunch the four of them headed out to the lake; it was another stunning day and it felt wonderful to spend it, carefree, with his friends. But a small part of him did miss Snape while swimming; the waves Ron conjured weren't quite as life-threatening as the tsunami-like ones Snape made.

Harry sent a huge wave crashing over Ron who, spluttering incoherently from his mouth being full of water, tried to enunciate a counterspell, but Harry quickly realized that the water had garbled his speech and consequently the spell. Feeling his entire body become paralyzed, the last thing Harry saw before everything went black was Ginny's petrified face.

S.S.

Severus spent all morning thinking about the situation with Potter. He knew that he could no longer house the boy, not after that comment; it would do neither of them good. He considered owling Kelly or Savage; surely they would place the boy with a capable Auror, who would keep him safe in the threat of danger from Lestrange. But though Severus wanted to separate himself from the boy, he could not bring himself to place him elsewhere. Severus knew, with humble confidence, that he was the most capable of any wizard of protecting the blasted boy.

He brewed his potions with ferocity, trying to distract himself. With the drop and addition of each ingredient he pictured solving the problem with Potter. And with each transformation of the potion – from runny to thick, from violet to turquoise – he imagined transforming his current feelings for Potter and reverting them back to the old ones.

Around mid-afternoon he decided he should go up and eat – he didn't want Potter and his friends to think that he didn't feel free to walk around in his own house. He made a sandwich, casting a careless glance out the window where Potter and his cronies were swimming in the lake. Severus saw the Weasley boy trying to set waves on Potter, but they were tiny and completely non-threatening. Severus almost felt a little wistful, but quickly buried the emotion.

He was eating his sandwich when the Weasley boy came stumbling in wearing his swim trunks, dripping all over the hardwood floors, a crazed expression on his face.

"SNAPE!" he yelled, his voice shrill. "Please, come, help, Harry – he's hurt – "

Severus narrowed his eyes at Weasley but at his mention of Potter, swiftly stood and spoke sharply. "What?"

"A spell," Weasley breathed. "Water in my mouth – came out wrong – he's unconscious – "

Severus pushed Weasley roughly aside and rushed outside. Granger and the Weasley girl were kneeling on the shore next to Potter, who was lying on the ground unconscious. Fear was etched on their faces as Severus pushed them aside and critically assessed Potter, his own heart thumping.

His face was ashen and his body rigid, as though he were paralyzed. His eyes were closed and he felt clammy, but Severus quickly ascertained a pulse and breathed a small sigh of relief. Running diagnostic spells hurriedly, he quickly realized that the idiot Weasley boy had accidentally uttered a Dark spell that mimicked the effects of petrification by basilisk, but was thankfully reversible with Severus's extensive knowledge. He levitated the boy into the cottage, gently placing him on the couch and quickly muttering the countercurses, his hand subconsciously resting gently on Potter's head. In his own hurry and concern, he missed seeing the other three teenagers follow him in, exchanging looks of surprise.

"Come on, Potter," he muttered, his wand flying in complicated flicks, "wake up…wake up, Harry…"

Severus pulled Potter up into a sitting position, resting his lolling head against a pillow. Gripping the boy's shoulders, he shook him lightly until, after a few agonizing moments, the boy's eyes fluttered open. Severus felt his chest deflate with relief and sat back, trying to regain his impassivity.

Potter eyed Severus intently. "What happened?"

"Your friend – " he sent Weasley a dirty look, who looked appropriately guilty, "accidentally set a Dark curse on you. His speech was garbled by water." He looked at Weasley coldly.

"I'm so sorry, mate," the boy Weasley said hurriedly, "I had no idea – total accident – "

"Don't worry about it, Ron." Potter said easily, brushing off his friend and stretching, bending his limbs. "I understand."

"We were so worried," the girl Weasley said, sitting gingerly next to Potter and staring at him.

"Professor," Granger addressed carefully, "what was the spell?"

Severus looked at her, wondering how much she knew of the spell and its countercurse. "_Nihil motum_." He said shortly.

Granger's eyes widened in surprise and understanding as Severus mentally slapped himself. "The countercurse…is _tollere_." She breathed. Severus did not nod or shake his head, but continued to stare on impassively.

Potter and the Weasleys looked at her curiously. "What does it do?" asked Potter.

Severus shot her a warning look, trying to intimidate her into staying quiet, but alas the insolent know-it-all didn't listen. Biting her lip, Granger said, "_Tollere _literally means to remove. Professor Snape…removed a bit of his magic, to bring back Harry."

Understanding dawned on the girl Weasley's and Potter's face, but the boy Weasley looked bewildered. "What does that mean? Snape gave some of his magic to Harry?"

Granger nodded. "A wizard as powerful as Professor Snape has an abundance of magic, Ron, but yes, he gave Harry some. He will recover is quickly, I'm sure, but it's an incredibly exhausting and debilitating spell."  
"You did that for me?" asked Potter quietly, staring at Severus with an unfathomable expression.

Severus paused, trying to think of a caustic response. "There was no choice." He said honestly, hoping Potter was insulted.

"Could you give us a minute?" Potter asked his friends quietly.

"Sure," the girl Weasley said, squeezing Potter's hand.

"We'll make dinner!" Granger said brightly, smiling at Severus. What nerve.

"I'm sorry again," the boy Weasley said sheepishly.

The three walked out, still in their swimclothes, into the kitchen, closing the door behind them.

"I don't know what to say." Said Potter.

"What's new." Severus said coldly.

"I don't know how to thank you." Potter said seriously. "Giving me some of your magic…"

"Do not flatter yourself." Severus said evenly, his voice devoid of emotion. "I could not let you die. It was the only way. I do not fancy spending the rest of my life in Azkaban."

"That's the reason you saved me?" asked Potter, his eyes narrowed.

"The only one." Said Severus, staring ahead.

"I heard you call me Harry." Potter said softly. "Your hand was on my head."

"One must maintain physical contact during the spell, you foolish boy." Severus lied quickly. Potter's face fell. "I used your first name only because it may have gotten through to you."

"Whatever I did, I'm sorry." Potter said sincerely. "I don't know if I caused this change in your attitude, but I want things to go back to how they were before."

Severus looked at him, those damn green eyes hopeful, and almost felt his resolve break. But he would not put himself or Potter through this – he had chosen to live a lonely, solitary life, and was not inclined to change that now. Potter must go back to hating him, not thinking of him and the word…_father_ in the same realm, let alone the same sentence.

"Over the past few weeks, I have suffered a lapse in judgment." Severus said evenly. "I am still recovering from the snake wounds and, undoubtedly, the medication had influenced me to have stronger emotions." He paused, nearly hating himself for what he was going to say. "After I told you that I cared deeply for you, I realized those words were not true. I do not hate you, but I do not care for you." He gritted his teeth, suddenly feeling exhausted. "Do not read into the spell I used today. You mean very little to me, not nearly enough to give you any of my magic."

Potter's eyes suddenly looked profoundly sad – the last time Severus had seen those green eyes look like that, had been the Mudblood incident. He almost spoke, almost apologized, but bit his tongue.

"You don't mean that." Potter said, shaking his head as if trying to convince himself.

"Oh, but I do." Severus said nastily. "I am exhausted. I am going upstairs to sleep; your idiotic friends must be gone in two hours." And without a second glance, with great strain, he lifted himself from his chair and walked upstairs, ignoring the boy's friends as he passed through the kitchen. He fell onto his bed, realizing he was too weak to set a Silencing charm, and before he could pray that he didn't have nightmares, he fell into a deep sleep.

H.P.

WHAT was going on?

Harry sat on the couch, pathetically trying to keep his eyes from leaking tears. What had he done wrong? Was Snape really that disgusted with what he had said?

He had felt Snape's gentle touch when he was trying to revive him. He had seen relief flood his features when he opened his eyes; yet, the man was acting more cruel and hateful than ever before.

Harry stood wearily, entering the kitchen and sitting down to eat a roast that Ginny had made. They chatted quietly, about trivial things, until Hermione cleared her throat.

"How did your talk go?"

"Horribly." Harry said flatly. "I just…he's acting so strange. Just like he used to. And it all started last night…"

"Harry." Ron said, looking uncharacteristically serious. "However you think the greasy git feels about you, I reckon it's not true. When I came in here today, and said you were hurt…"

"Ron's right." Ginny said. "Snape looked…horrified." She looked at her food. "He looked like Dad when he found out Fred was…dead."

Hermione nodded. "It's clear Professor Snape cares a great deal about you, Harry. Is…is there something you're not telling us, that happened last night?"

Harry stared at his food, wondering if they would be absolutely horrified at the truth. But as he looked around at their curious faces, he knew they were only trying to help. They were his best friends, after all.

"Er, kind of," he started. "I sort of told him…that he was a better father than Lucius Malfoy."

All three sets of eyes widened, but Ginny's expression turned kind. "Harry, I don't think that's weird." She said quietly. "I can see that Snape has been caring for you, sort of like a father would."

"Harry," said Hermione, her voice taking on a lecturing and informative tone, "the problem is obvious. When Snape heard you say that word, I reckon he felt rather overwhelmed. He's spent an entire lifetime shutting people out, except your mum and Dumbledore, and the implications of that word…he's probably scared you're going to hurt him, like they did."

"But I'm not."

"I know that," Hermione said. "But he doesn't." She sighed, casting a glance upstairs. "Give him time. Maybe be really open with him, tell him you care about him too. But I know one thing; that spell he used today, is nothing minor. Giving someone else a portion of your magic is huge."

"I hope he comes around, mate." Said Ron seriously. "You seem happier than you have in a while."

Harry, touched by Ron's concern, smiled a little and the four teenagers continued their discussion, but with lighter topics. As the night grew dark, they stood up and bade Harry goodbye, promising to write and visit again, wishing him well in making up with Snape.

Harry watched wistfully as they left through the Floo, his hand still raised in goodbye after they were all gone. He cleaned up dinner and trudged up the stairs, having a mental argument with himself about whether or not to wait to speak with Snape in the morning.

But suddenly, he heard a low moaning coming from Snape'd bedroom door, followed by what sounded like sobbing and screaming. The noises were so unlike Snape that Harry felt momentarily rooted to the spot, unable to move from shock. After a split second of indecision, he rushed to Snape's door and pushed it open.

He barely registered the room as he saw Snape lying on the bed, twisted in his sheets, his face pale in the moonlight and contorted with grief.

"I'M SORRY!" he shouted, his face demented and inhuman with pain. "I DIDN'T KNOW, I DIDN'T KNOW, PLEASE FORGIVE ME – "

"SNAPE!" Harry shouted, approaching the man and grasping his shoulders. "Snap out of it! Snape!"

But Snape was too far gone to hear him. Tears streamed down his face, his hands clutching at the blankets in agony. "LILY, I TRIED, PLEASE DON'T HATE ME!"

"Snape!" Harry bellowed, grasping Snape's shoulders tightly. "WAKE UP!"

But again, Snape ignored him, now curling into a ball and whimpering softly. "Lily, I'm so sorry…and now, I'm hurting your son…I'm a monster…I should have let Nagini kill me…"

Harry heart clenched and he felt tears spring into his own eyes. Struck by inspiration, he conjured a glass of water and poured it on Snape's face, the water mixing with the man's tears. Suddenly, the whimpering stopped. Harry quickly siphoned the water off his face, trying to avoid Snape waking and attacking him.

"Severus," Harry said softly. "It's okay. You were having a nightmare."

Snape's coal black eyes opened, and Harry had never seen him looking so vulnerable. Gone were any airs of superiority, coldness, or impassivity; his expression was pure pain and regret. He blinked slowly, as if unsure Harry was sitting there.

"Why are you here?" Snape asked quietly, trying to sit up.

"I heard you." Harry said.

Snape groaned and muttered something about a Silencing charm.

"You put those up?" asked Harry angrily.

"Yes, I do, Potter!" Snape responded. "It would not do well for you to hear me agonizing over my nightmares every night!"

"I could help you!" Harry retorted stubbornly. "Like you've been helping me!"

Snape suddenly leaned back, looking exhausted. He looked pale as ever in the moonlight and there were dark circles under his eyes.

Harry tentatively stood up and, after a moment's hesitation, walked towards the other side of Snape's bed and pulled himself up on it. Snape looked at him incredulously as Harry smoothed Snape's twisted blankets over him.

"Do you dream about my mum a lot?" asked Harry carefully, leaning back against the headboard.

Snape appeared to try to move away from Harry, but seemed to lack the energy. He did not speak for a few moments but then uttered, "She frequents many of my nightmares."

"Same with me." Harry said simply. He looked down at Snape's prostrate figure and conjured the courage to speak. "You're not a monster." He said softly.

Snape looked up at him, but his black eyes were not angry or accusatory, but instead extremely weary. "How much did you hear?"

"Not much." Harry responded honestly.

The two sat in silence for several minutes, lost in their own thoughts. Just when Harry thought Snape was falling asleep, he heard the man speak in the softest voice he had ever heard him use.

"I didn't mean what I said today."

Harry paused, turning around to look at his face. "I know."

Snape sighed. "You didn't have to come in here tonight, wake me up. Especially after how I acted."

"Severus," Harry chastised softly. "I had no choice." He paused. "You also saved my life today."

Severus cocked his head lightly. "I had no choice." He said, repeating Harry's words.

Harry looked down at the man, the man who had given some of his own magic so that Harry could live, the man that had been apologizing in his own nightmare for hurting Harry.

"Can I say something?"

"Why do you always ask that," Snape asked, annoyed. But when Harry looked at his black eyes, there was lingering affection in them. His heart warmed, he continued.

"What I said last night," Harry began. "I didn't want to…to make things weird, or anything." He paused. "Being with you, here, it's been like…it's been like what my childhood should have been, you know? Kind of like a proper…family. As dysfunctional as that sounds." He hesitated. "I care about you too, a lot, Severus. I haven't said it, but I do." He looked into the black eyes, willing them to believe his next words. "And I'm not going to leave."

"Yes, you are," Snape whispered softly, his eyes contorting in pain.

"No, I'm not." Harry disagreed quietly. He laid back, suddenly overcome with fatigue, and closed his eyes.

"As for what I said last night," he whispered, losing his filter, almost asleep, "I…I wish it were true."

He missed Snape's last words, quiet and unfiltered as his own as he too fell into a deep sleep beside him. "So do I."


	17. Birthday Part 1

S.S.

Severus woke the next morning feeling completely debilitated and exhausted. Stretching his achy bones lightly and wincing, he immediately stilled as he heard a heavy snore somewhere beside him. WHO was that?

Oh. It was Potter.

Severus vaguely remembered Potter coming in the night before, when he was having a nightmare. He had forgotten to put up the damn silencing charm. He hadn't expected Potter to come in, though, not after how he had treated him…

But how had Potter ended up_ sleeping_ in there? Severus distantly remembered Potter climbing onto the bed, but feeling too weak to move away from him. And then Potter had referenced his previous comments, about comparing Severus to a father…

And then the dratted boy had said, in a semi-conscious haze of sleep, that he wished it were true.

And Severus realized with an audible groan that he had agreed.

He glanced sideways at Potter, who was snoring loudly with his mouth open slightly. His glasses were tipped on his nose and he was drooling. Months ago Severus would have found the sight absolutely repulsive, but now it wasn't quite so abhorrent. Even a little amusing.

Potter looked almost like a full-grown man, but still, there were traces of the eleven-year-old boy Severus had first seen (and hated). How old was he now? Seventeen? Eighteen?

What month was it?

H.P.

The next week passed by at a reasonably slow pace, which Harry didn't mind. He continued making up his schoolwork in the morning, and swimming or playing chess with Snape in the afternoon. Their relationship was growing slowly; Snape was nowhere near nice, but the arguing had stopped, and Harry could see that Snape was genuinely trying to be patient with him. It was in the little ways that Harry saw Snape's true character shine through; when he absentmindedly blew on Harry's hot tea before giving it to him, when Harry fell asleep on the couch and woke up with a blanket snugly tucked around him, when he teased Harry lightly and actually smiled.

Towards the end of July Harry realized that his eighteenth birthday was approaching, but didn't want to mention it to Snape. He didn't want to sound dramatic or self-centered by declaring it, as Snape was already being hospitable enough by hosting and caring for Harry. But a small part of him also knew that if he did tell Snape, and Snape scoffed and didn't do anything, it would hurt the relationship that Harry was trying so hard to foster.

Harry woke on the morning of July 31st with slight trepidation, but then it immediately cleared. Even if Snape ignored his birthday, even if he got few presents, wouldn't the fact that he was here make it one of the best birthdays he had ever had? Spending the day as he had been would suffice.

He trudged downstairs, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, and walked into the bright kitchen. Snape was drinking coffee and reading, oddly framed by the sunrise. It suddenly struck Harry how different Snape looked than he had previously; his skin was not pallid and sallow, but tanned from days outside at the lake; his hair was not as greasy and almost looked shiny; the harsh lines on his face had relaxed and he almost looked…content. He also wasn't wearing his heavy black robes, but instead thinner, lighter-colored Muggle clothing.

Harry saw an enormous plate filled with an extensive breakfast across from Snape. Beside it was a small stack of presents and cards, next to a massive trash bag filled with (what seemed to be) more cards.

"Morning," Harry said, trying to keep the smile off his face.

Snape looked up, his eyes unfathomable. "Morning, Potter."

"What is all this?" Harry gestured at the breakfast, daring to push his luck.

"Potter," Snape said condescendingly, "it is your birthday, is it not?"

Harry gave up the fight and let a smile slide across his face. "It is." He sat down, devouring the breakfast ferociously as Snape looked on in disdain. He glanced sideways at the pile of letters and gifts, seeing Hermione's neat scrawl and Hagrid's messy penmanship; and, as his heart skipped a beat, he saw a gift box attached to a note with cramped writing that Harry had seen in the margins of an old Potions book.

"What's this?" he asked, gesturing to the trashbag.

"That is only one of six." Snape said, his lip curling in distaste. "Birthday presents from your many fans."

Harry laughed, snorting. "Merlin." Suddenly, he looked up at Snape. "When is your birthday?"

"What?"

"When is _your _birthday?"

"It does not matter, Potter." Snape said stiffly. "Why do you want to know?"

"So I can prepare for it."

"Birthdays have never mattered to me. I do not understand why the world wants to celebrate someone being one year closer to death, and why people give gifts to signify congratulations that you have survived in the living world. It is highly contrived."

Harry frowned. "Nevertheless, when is you birthday?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "January 9th."

Harry nodded. "Thank you. Now I have over five months to plan."

Harry ate breakfast slowly, savoring the food and anticipating his gifts. "Thank you for the breakfast, Severus."

Snape nodded minutely, then opened his mouth to speak, surprising Harry. "What were birthdays like when you were a child?"

"Horrible." Harry said through a mouthful of food. "Not really different than any other day, so I did my usual chores all day or hung out in my cupboard. I never, ever got a cake, or really any presents. A couple times they gave me a coat hanger."

Snape nodded, but Harry did not miss the brief expression of anger that flitted across his face. It made Harry feel strangely warmed.

Harry finished his breakfast and shifted his attention to the pile of presents. He purposefully left Snape's small box for last.

Hagrid had given him a gift card to Eyelops Owl Emporium in Diagon Alley, remarking in his note that it was a perfect time to get a new owl. In his card he also expressed his wish that Harry was doing well, enjoying living with Snape, about whom, he noted, he had been right all along. Hermione had given him several books about the history of Aurors, Auror training, and guidebooks for Aurors. Ron's gift was a framed photograph of him, Ron, and Hermione, taken sitting together in the Great Hall a few weeks after the battle. Their faces were happy, but clearly worn and matured from the year they had endured. Harry was struck by how old they looked. He had also sent a large giftbag of purchases from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, at which Snape raised a disdainful eyebrow.

Ginny had also sent him a picture, a silhouette snapshot someone must have taken in their sixth year. They were sitting on the grounds, his arm around her as she leaned into his shoulder, their bodies framed by the setting sun. She had also attached a small diary that she had kept during her sixth year at Hogwarts, so Harry could know what she had been doing. He set that aside to read later.

Mrs. Weasley had sent him an enormous knitted blanket with the words "Hero Harry" stitched in gold. Snape snorted softly at that one. She also sent a few cakes, but mentioned in her note that she hoped Harry would not need those this year. Fleur and Bill had sent him a large, glass paperweight that resembled a snitch. Andromeda had sent Harry a small photo album, mostly solo pictures of Teddy, but also a few of him and the baby and, to Harry's grief, a few of Remus and Tonks with their son. She also sent a few books and journals that Tonks had kept when she became an Auror.

Harry saw a long, thin package and was astonished to see that Minerva McGonagall had gotten him a broomstick, the latest edition, a Rapidsprint. Kingsley Shacklebolt sent an assortment of Auror materials, such as Dark magic detectors, that Harry recognized from shelves in Dumbledore's office. Even the Malfoys had sent a card, embossed in gold and glitter, along with a small model of a phoenix.

Harry glanced sideways at the trashbag, but decided to look at it, and the other five, later. He was too eager to see Snape's gift. It was wrapped in Slytherin green paper, and all the card said was  
"Happy birthday Potter – Severus." Harry bit his lip and glanced at Snape, who looked the slightest bit nervous. Nervous that Harry would like the present? Harry frowned and fought the urge to tell Snape that it didn't matter if the present was dirty socks, the fact that he had gotten him anything, and had taken the time to wrap it, meant more than he could say.

"This is from you." Harry stated. Snape nodded. Harry carefully opened the green paper, taking care not to rip it, to see a simple white box. He opened the lid delicately.

There were three objects inside. He gently lifted the first out of the box and was stunned at what he saw. It was a set of robes, midnight blue, with a small Ministry of Magic crest under which Harry's name was embossed in gold. The robes were thick and elegant, made out of fine material and resistant to all sorts of elements. They were Auror robes; Harry had seen Savage and Kelly wearing them. He knew they were very expensive.

The second was a thin book that Harry instantly recognized was from the Muggle world; it was titled "Piano for Beginners" and was filled with simple sheet music. Harry smiled internally as he remembered mentioning to Snape a few weeks ago that he really wanted to learn to play the piano, but Snape's music was far too advanced. He carefully put it on the table and delved back into the box.

The third was a small leather book, embossed in green, which said nothing on the front. But when Harry opened it, and flipped through it, he uttered a small gasp.

It was a small scrapbook of Harry's mum. There were a few solo shots of her, smiling, laughing, doing homework in the library, lounging on the grounds. Then there were little snippets of notes she had written to Severus, and Harry's heart clenched at her handwriting. _When I'm older, Sev, I'm going to have lots of kids, just like Mary's family. If I have a son, I am going to name him Harry, and if a daughter, Grace. It would be rather strange if they looked just like me – I don't want to inflict my super-red hair on them – but if they had my eyes, that would be nice. It is always so special to look at children and see their parents in them!_

Harry wiped the tears out of his eyes, tracing Lily's words with his thumb.

He frowned, uncertain how to express his gratitude to Snape. Each gift had been so thoughtful, so perfect; Harry was touched beyond words for what Snape had done. He raised his eyes to look at the man and saw that he still look slightly nervous. Was he mistaking Harry's frown for disappointment?

"I don't know how to thank you." Harry said thickly, his voice catching. "They are all…perfect."

Relief briefly passed through Snape's eyes. "The robes," he explained, "I know of your ambition to be an Auror, I am quite sure the department will be scrambling to count you among its ranks once you get out of here." He cleared his throat. "I thought I would get you the robes a little early."

"They're perfect." Harry said earnestly. "They're the nicest robes I've ever had. I…thank you. And the music – I'm going to start learning tonight." His eyes shifted to the photo album, his hand coming up to trace the embossed cover absentmindedly, his eyes becoming glassy again. "And this scrapbook…how can I – "

"Harry." Snape said softly. "You're welcome."

Harry, suddenly overcome with happy emotion, quickly stood to clear their plates so Snape would not become uncomfortable at Harry's unprecedented tears. With a flick of his wand he sent the trashbag and other presents upstairs, but kept the ones Snape had given him on the table.

"I must tell you," Snape said, with the air of having to admit something unpleasant, "your little friends are planning on hosting a birthday celebration for you later. At the Weasley's." His lip curled unpleasantly.

"Brilliant!" Harry exclaimed. "You're coming, right?"

"What?" Snape asked, bewildered. "No."

"No! You have to come." Harry said aggressively.

"Why?"

"Because I want you to be there."

Snape rolled his eyes. "People will not take to my presence very kindly, Potter. You do remember who I am, do you not? No matter how you exposed my loyalties, I am not exactly a beloved party guest."

"Severus, I would really like you to be there." Harry said. "Please, come." He widened his eyes in sincerity. Snape rolled his in return.

"I will consider it." He said shortly.

"Wonderful," Harry said briskly. "So, do you have plans for today?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I don't have any pressing matters."

"Good." Harry said. "Can we, er…go somewhere? Is it safe?"

Snape hesitated momentarily. "I believe so. As long as I with you, going on a brief excursion should not be dangerous." He paused. "Where do you wish to go?"

Harry paused. He had originally had numerous ideas in mind – the mountains, a Muggle landmark, even Hogwarts – but glancing at the photo album, he had another thought.

"Have you ever been to my mum's grave?"

Snape eyes widened and great pain briefly flitted across his face. "No."

"Why not?"

"Godric's Hollow is home to a lot of wizards." Snape sighed. "I feared I would be seen." His face turned hard. "And she is buried with your father. I did not wish to see that."  
Harry pressed his lips. "Would you like to go today?"

"A graveyard visit is your idea of an enjoyable birthday?"

"I think she would have loved it." Harry said. "It's the day, eighteen years ago, that she became a mum. It only seems fitting."

Snape looked down and cracked his knuckles, looking troubled.

"I think she would have loved if you came with me," Harry said softly. "It would be good for you."

Snape was quiet for a long while and then looked up at Harry, his black eyes indiscernible. "Fine."

H.P.

The two pattered into the graveyard, Harry pointedly steering Snape away from seeing the statue of him and his parents. This was going to be difficult enough, no need to make it worse.

The air was heavy with heat but breezy, the opposite of the last time Harry had been here on Christmas Eve. The sun shone above them, light filtering through the trees, casting golden rays on the headstones.

Harry walked closer to Snape than usual as he purposefully strode towards the area where the graves were. He saw the white marble tomb distantly, glinting oddly in the sun.

"Right there," he said softly, gesturing with his head to Snape, his heart beating fast.

Snape's expression remained guarded as the two men stood before the white marble gravestone. Their names, and dates of birth and death, seemed to sparkle in the light.

Harry looked at the graves, feeling a wave of grief wash over him again. Despite his stupendous relief at Voldemort's death, Harry felt cheated in a way. Killing Voldemort had not brought Harry's parents back to life. Thinking of their ghost-like figures right before he had sacrificed himself, he suddenly felt himself wishing they were there now, to share in celebrating his victory, to smile and hug him and tell him they loved him.

There would always be something missing from his life. No matter how good things were, no matter how many friends he had or how happy he was, he would never have his parents back. And the realization of that filled him with a sense of despair and longing he could barely bear to feel. Thick, hot tears fell from his eyes, and this time they did not freeze, but fell to the ground. He pressed his lips to suppress a sob.

Suddenly, he felt a strong hand grasp his own, tightly, and for one wild second he thought he had been transported back in time to Christmas Eve when Hermione had taken his hand in that same fashion when they had been here before. But no – it was Snape.

Harry glanced sideways and saw that tears were dripping down Snape's hooked nose. Harry felt Snape's hand slide from his as the man fell to his knees, sobbing, his head bowed.

"I did this," he whispered through sobs. "_I did this_."

Harry knelt down beside Snape and rubbed circles around his back. "It's okay, Severus. They both forgive you." He soothed.

Snape took Harry's hand again, squeezing it tightly, and the men stayed like that for a while, kneeling before the grave in the hot summer sun, their eyes glassy and reflective, hands clasped together. Finally, Harry decided he had had enough. "Can we go?"

Snape nodded and swiftly stood, offering out a hand absentmindedly to Harry. Harry took it and Snape pulled him up quickly, then held onto his hand a moment longer than necessary.

"Thank you." he said simply.

Harry bit his lip, looking down at the grave, his eyes tears threatening to spill over, his face still contorted in pain. "I'm happy it helped you."

And before he knew it, Snape had grasped his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. It briefly disarmed Harry that Snape was actually very good at hugging; his arms were long and strong, making the embrace infinitely comforting. It was over quickly, but when Snape pulled back, he kept his hands on Harry's shoulders.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle. The tone made Harry's eyes even glassier, but he smiled.

"I am if you are."

Snape nodded and then dropped one hand, but kept the other on Harry's shoulders. He conjured a bouquet of white lilies and put them beside the Christmas wreath that Hermione had left there before. With one last glance, the two men walked out, the slightly taller one steering the younger one.

"I bet she's looking down and smiling right now," Harry said, smiling slightly as they walked out of the kissing gate. "A huge smile."

Snape's eyes filled with tears, but his lips curved into a rare smile. "Happy birthday, Harry."

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sorry it is a bit on the short side but I wanted to split Harry's birthday up into 2 chapters. The next one will be the party, and should be up in the next few days. Please keep reviewing! Much love, keyphoenix**


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